For Learning Purposes Only
by TheShatteredRose
Summary: A series of drabbles/oneshots with characters from the "A Learning Experience" series
1. Midnight Tryst

**Title:** Midnight Tryst

 **Pairings:** Zesiro/Roxbury

 **Word Count:** 745

 **AN:** Couldn't help myself X3

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A Hope We Don't Get Caught Kiss

Roxbury was about to call it a night and get ready for bed when he heard the window to his room unexpectedly open. Startled, his felt his body move into a defensive stance as he whirled around toward the window. It took him only a few seconds to find the one responsible and to release a sigh of relief when he recognised them.

"Zesiro?" Roxbury hissed lowly as the blond-haired imperial grinned at him as he lounged against the sill of the window. "What are you doing?"

"I was just in the neighbourhood," Zesiro responded far too casually for a man who had just scrambled through a second story window.

Roxbury snorted lightly before hurrying over to the infuriating man, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him into the room. He didn't want him to lose his balance and accidentally fall out. He also didn't want someone to see him sitting in the window and assume that he was trying to break in and steal something.

Once Zesiro was in the room, Roxbury poked his head out the window to see if there was anyone around. Thankfully, there didn't appear to be anyone out and about this late at night. He sighed and pulled himself back inside, closing the window as quietly as possible.

He then turned around, ready to question the blond haired man about his motives, but found himself unable to speak when he found himself chest to chest with Zesiro. He snapped his head up, their few inches of height difference suddenly so significant.

The next thing he knew, he was pressed against the wall next to the window, his hands pinned by the wrist on either side of his head, Zesiro's body pressed tightly against his and his mouth smothering his own with a deep, explorative kiss.

Seemingly against his will, Roxbury moaned lowly into Zesiro's mouth, unwittingly (?) granting him access to the interior of his mouth. Zesiro quickly took on that invitation, plunging his tongue past his lips and teeth, to heatedly touch and caress every inch of his mouth.

"W-we can't," Roxbury found himself murmuring, trying to ground himself, even as he made absolute no attempt to push the other away from him. In fact, in contradiction to his words, he found himself tilting his head slightly to the side, to allow Zesiro greater access to his lips and mouth. "The others…they might…"

"So what if they do?" Zesiro muttered against his lips

He had to stop him. They were at the clinic for heaven's sake. Any one of his guildmates might hear them, think the worst, and bust their way in. Isiah, especially, was good at kicking in doors.

But…with Zesiro's mouth incessant against his, Roxbury was unable to form any useful or functioning thoughts. All that he could register was the feel of Zesiro's tongue searching every inch of his mouth, his harden body pressed tightly against his, and his knee slipping in between his legs.

His body trilled with a heat he had never felt before. It made him hypersensitive, able to feel everything that Zesiro was doing to him, yet it weakened him. His skin burned everywhere Zesiro touched. It wasn't remotely painful. It fact, it felt amazing. He was fortunate that Zesiro's hold around him was so strong and that the wall behind his back was so solid. His legs felt like jelly; weak and useless.

Roxbury gasped when he felt Zesiro run his hands down his sides, down to his thighs. He made a noise of surprise, his eyes snapping open when Zesiro abruptly, and unexpectedly, broke the kiss and lowered his hands to Roxbury's knees. Then, in one fluid movement, simultaneously pushed Roxbury against the wall, swept his feet off the floor, moved him so that his legs were around his waist.

Placing his hands on Zesiro's shoulders, Roxbury stared into Zesiro's eyes with an expression of surprise on his face. Zesiro, however, smirked smugly at him before abruptly eliminating the distance between them once more.

And, once more, Roxbury found himself willingly participating in the kiss, one of his hands clutching at Zesiro's shoulder while the other wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. He didn't have it in him to even attempt to fight what was happening between them. He had lost all control.

All he could do was silently hope that they didn't get caught. He didn't fancy the potential bloodshed their…tryst could cause.


	2. In Good Hands

**Title:** In Good Hands

 **Pairings:** Bryce/Varuna

 **Words:** 1,124

 **Prompt:** Hold My Hand

 **AN:** Holding hands is such a varied prompt, isn't it? I tried to think of something a little different. Not sure if it worked, but meh. It was nice writing about this pairing again :3

* * *

It started off a simple trip through the Windy Plains to gather some materials to be sold to the Berund Atelier due to them falling low with supplies. But as Bryce lugged a bag of materials aboard the sister airship, Espiritu, he turned to do a headcount of everyone involved but stopped when he gaze fell upon Varuna.

The white-haired nightseeker was standing near the bow of their airship. He was staring off into the distance, his shoulders squared, and his back rigid and tense. And yet he seemed to be trembling. Looking in the same direction, Bryce instantly knew why.

The Fire Dragon.

The hulking form of the red dragon could be seen easily against the clear blue sky and green foliage of the Windy Plains. It was far off in the distance, though, near the Lush Woodlands. Even so, having the dragon anywhere in the sky was still a terrifying prospect. Anyone who could fly around with such a dangerous creature in the air had to have balls of steel.

Or were insane.

"Bryce? Is that…?

Glancing over his shoulder, Bryce's gaze caught that of his brother's. Blayden had noticed Varuan's odd behaviour, too. And there was a sense of fear and uncertainty in his eyes. No surprise, really. The last time they encountered the Fire Dragon, they were staggered by it, unfortunate enough to be in its direct flight path. If it wasn't for Nitish…

They were safe near the Dense Bushlands, though, the sails of the Espiritu able to hide amongst the green foliage of their natural surroundings. There was no need for the Fire Dragon to head in their direction. Unless, of course, it was after a meal. The Supreme Wings seemed to be its favourite.

Even so, as long as they stayed within the boundaries of the Dense Bushland, he was sure they would be fine.

"We'll wait until the sky is clear before taking to the air," Bryce said the youngest members of their party. "Stay in the Dense Bushland for now. Collect some small flowers for Nitish or something."

Blayden nodded his head and his hand immediately sought out to take Baldur's wrist in a tight grip, quickly tugging him back into the small grotto. It appeared that Baldur hadn't seen the Fire Dragon as he immediately began to protest, wonder what had gotten into Blayden and to stop tugging him along.

Wordlessly, Fletcher did the same with Miach and the four little brothers of the group disappeared back into the Dense Bushland.

With the four brothers' safe, Bryce immediately turned his attention to Varuna. He hadn't moved an inch, still standing rigid and on guard. And watching.

The majority of Varuna's abilities were still a mystery to him and to the rest of their guild. Not even his brother knew everything. But Bryce was fairly certain why Varuna was acting strangely, why he was staring intently at the Fire Dragon.

Varuna was reacting to a possible threat.

And yet, he knew that this particular threat was too much for them. For him. He seemed to be struggling with the urge of going into "Silent Assassin Mode" and fleeing because of what the Fire Dragon had done to him as a child. There was a possible threat and he was reacting to it. And yet, he knew the chances of him 'taking out the threat' on his own was near impossible.

The best thing Bryce could do was to take him away from the threat. Remove the threat from his line of sight.

"Bryce," Varuna murmured, his voice surprisingly steady despite the small tremors of his body. "Hold my hand."

Bryce did one better.

He wrapped his arms around Varuna, pulling the slender nightseeker up against him. He immediately caught his hand and cradled him against his chest. Varuna's hand immediately tightened around his and he could feel him tremble slightly.

However, being in Bryce's arm and his hand held tightly in his, Varuna did relax a little. Not completely. He was still tense and on high alert, but he wasn't as still as before.

"Let me see it," Varuna has as he shifted slightly in Bryce's arms to keep the Fire Dragon in sight. "If I see it leave, I'll feel better."

"Sure."

Bryce turned to watch as well. And he raised an eyebrow when the Fire Dragon scooped up a Bounding Beast and held it in its large claw, staring intently at it with narrow eyes. However, rather surprisingly, the dragon simply sniffed at the kangaroo-like monster and instead of instantly devouring it, it seemed to casually toss it aside. As if it wasn't what it was looking for.

The Bounding Beast, to its credit, immediately bounced up, shook a paw in the Fire Dragon's direction before hopping away, rather hurriedly.

Odd. The Fire Dragon didn't seem as…fierce as it once was.

Varuna, however, was still focusing entirely on it, waiting, his hand flexing and relaxing around Bryce's hand as if he wanted to so desperately unsheathe his blades.

"Are you remembering?" Bryce asked as he idly rubbed his thumb over the inner side of Varuna's wrist, watching as the Fire Dragon took off into the sky once more.

"I don't know," Varuna answered honestly as he gave a tiny shake of his head and kept his gaze locked on the red dragon that was seemingly heading in the direction of the waterfall on the east side of the Windy Plains.

"A dream, perhaps," he continued as a wistful expression suddenly appeared on his face. "It's…dark, pitch black. Night, I think. Nitish is huddled next to me. He's scared. Shaking. There was a glow in the sky and then…there was a man in dark armour. He was kneeling in front of us. He…had his arms around us, protecting us."

That man must have been Emperor Afrodr. Baldur's father.

Varuna sighed softly when the Fire Dragon finally disappeared over the top of the waterfalls. The dragon had returned to its nest. They were safe. Varuna, however, still kept a firm grip on Bryce's hand. It appeared that he wasn't willing to let go just yet.

"I don't remember anything more than that," he uttered as he finally turned toward Bryce and rested his head wearily on his shoulder, relaxing completely against him.

"We'll kick its ass one day," Bryce promised as he tightened his arm around Varuna, moving their hands so that their fingers where interlocked together.

"We haven't even seen the other two dragons, yet," Varuna reminded him as he buried his face within his shoulder.

"We'll kick their asses, too."

Varuna chuckled, although he seemed to try to hide it. "That's your answer to everything, isn't it?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"…Don't ever change."


	3. A Promise to Keep

**Title:** A Promise to Keep

 **Pairings:** Xander/Ciaran

 **Word Count:** 791

 **AN:** Because I'm shameless trash. And a fluff nut. To be honest, I'm not sure where this will fit into the "A Learning Experience" series, but, damn it, it's going to be in there somewhere. So help me…

* * *

 **A Promise**

Ciaran had noticed that Xander had been acting strange lately. He seemed more…contemplative than usual, yet bothered by something. It made Ciaran feel nervous. And slightly fearful that…that Xander was somehow regretting his time with him. It…wouldn't surprise Ciaran. He was a simple wharfmaster, after all. Not anything special.

He was nervous when the Phaedron Guild unexpectedly asked him and Xander to travel to the Sacred Mountains together to gather samples of produce. He was always happy to fly his airships, to be of use, but he couldn't help but feel that…that something was going to happen. Not in the way of monsters or treacherous terrain. But something more…personal.

The cold, icy landscapes of the Sacred Mountains have never felt more…frozen before.

"Ciaran."

"Y-yeah?" Ciaran murmured as he snapped himself out of his thoughts and turned to Xander. The dark skinned imperial has his back to him as he gazed out over the icy fields of the Sacred Mountains.

"Let me speak freely for a moment," Xander requested.

"Sure," Ciaran said while inwardly readying himself for hurt and rejection.

"I have never made a promise before," Xander unexpectedly said as he continued to gaze out at the vast snow covered fields. "I never…had anyone I was close to before. Pledges, vows; I know of those. But a promise…"

Ciaran had wondered where or what had brought this one, but he stayed quiet, letting the other man to speak without interruption. In all honesty, he didn't know how to respond.

Xander turned around to face him as he lifted his arm and withdrew his driveblade from his back. He then stabbed the tip of his driveblade into the ice and lowered himself to one knee, as if he…was about to pledge his life to him or something.

"I know I'm not doing this right, but…this is all I know," Xander said. "I…want to promise you that I will be there for you. Regardless of circumstances, regardless of outside influences. I…want to be by your side through whatever hardship. You'll…never be alone again."

Ciaran felt his cheeks heat up in a deep blush. He could see, feel, and hear how honest Xander was being. It made him feel flustered and choked up.

"You are the first person I've made a promise to," Xander continued before he pushed himself back to his feet and looked away, leaving his sword embedded into the ice before them. After a moment he sighed and seemed gain some courage. "And I hope that's not the last."

Ciaran felt tears sting his eyes and a he drew in a shaky breath to slow the fluttering of his heart. The cold winter air of the Sacred Mountains was a stark contrast to the flush on his cheeks. He was feeling embarrassed, shy even. But he couldn't stop looking at Xander. Couldn't take his eyes away from his. In his eyes was a look of sincerity.

…No one had ever looked at him like that before. No one had ever said those things to him before.

Wordlessly pushing forward, Ciaran rested his hands against Xander's chest before moving into his arms and resting against his chest. Although he was unsure, having never held anyone in such a way before, Xander's soon arms wound themselves around him tightly and he held him tightly, warmly, against him. Closing his eyes, Ciaran rested his cheek against Xander's chest and listened to his beating heart.

"I hope so, too," Ciaran whispered as he nuzzled his head under Xander's chin, tears lining his lashes.

The snow continued to drift softly around them as they stood in each other's arms, neither of them uttering a word. Nothing needed to be said anymore.

Opening his eyes, Ciaran looked out at the icy landscape and realised that he could barely feel the cold anymore. He had never felt so warm. He hoped Xander was as warm as he was.

Lifting his cheek off of Xander's chest, Ciaran tilted his head back to look up into Xander's eyes. His grip on his clothing tightened as he found himself pushing forward and up onto his toes. He then placed a quick, but meaningful kiss to his lips. Pulling back, he looked into Xander's eyes once more, seeing the expression of surprise on his face.

"Just…" Ciaran murmured. "I promise to be there for yeh, too."

Xander's eyes softened. "Hm."

A soft smile made its way upon Ciaran lips and he nodded his head. Slowly, Xander lowered his head this time, pressing his lips against his a little more firmly. Ciaran could only sigh softly and close his eyes once more. It was a soft kiss, a simple pressing of the lips, but it was enough. It was more than enough.


	4. Catch Me If I Fall

**Title:** Catch Me If I Fall

 **Pairings:** Minor Blayden/Baldur

 **Words:** 1,485

 **Prompt:** 31\. Catching the other before they fall

 **AN:** Enjoy!

* * *

"Does the terrain feel a little off to you?"

Momentarily pausing in his surveillance of the first floor of the Lush Woodlands, Baldur turned to look at the blond-haired landsknecht who had asked the sudden question, only to realise that Blayden was looking at the ground beneath their feet with a slight furrow of his brow. With the other four members of their party elsewhere on the less-than-dangerous first floor of the labyrinth, having split momentarily into three groups to cover more ground, Baldur knew that that question was directly solely to him.

Shrugging slightly as he readjusted his knapsack that was carrying the monster codex on his back, Baldur also turned his attention to the soil. However, he couldn't see or feel anything abnormal. True, he was used to walking upon tiled and paved surfaces, but that shouldn't alter his perception on what was solid ground and what wasn't.

"The soil is most likely still retaining water from that rainstorm late yesterday," Baldur offered, remembering how they had to cut short their trip to Valley Spring to race back to Tharsis to ride out the storm in safety.

The blond also seemed to be remembering the storm, musing silently with a slight frown on his lips. "Yeah, you're probably right," he relented after a moment. Although, he still didn't look all that convinced or pleased with that explanation.

Blayden was probably just being overly cautious now that he was Baldur's 'guardian' and it was just the two of them at the moment.

"Actually, I've always wondered what happened in the labyrinth during a heavy drenching like that," Blayden suddenly piped up as he turned his attention to the foliage of the Lush Woodlands once again.

"What do you mean?" Baldur found himself asking.

Blayden continued to look around as he idly trailed his fingertips along the hilt of his sword. "I mean, does the rain accumulate on the top floor and filter down to the next two? Or does it rush down like a waterfall? Or even a river if you consider the stairs."

Those were some surprisingly interesting questions. And with the labyrinth so close to the river, does that in anyway affect the stability of the Lush Woodlands? What of the river itself when it flooded? Had it ever flooded in recorded history?

…And why the sudden interest in the labyrinth's geography?

Living with three researchers was starting to rub off on him, it seemed.

"Hey, Baldur, I think we should join up with the others," Blayden suddenly stated.

As Baldur pulled himself out of his thoughts to pay attention to the blond swordsman, he immediately noticed that Blayden did not look remotely comfortable with their surroundings. He was no longer eyeing off the foliage with suspicion. He was tense. Waiting for something.

Was it a monster? Or was he still unnerved by the soil beneath their feet?

Before Baldur could question the other about what was troubling him, his left foot unexpectedly sunk into the ground. Half way up his shin. He reacted immediately by looking down and shifting his weight to his other foot. However, before he could even attempt to pull back his foot; he heard a loud crack, like that of a tree branch snapping in half.

He then suddenly felt weightless. Like the ground was giving way beneath him while simultaneously swallowing him up.

"Baldur!"

A…a sinkhole?

No…he couldn't escape. He was falling.

Baldur was suddenly wrenched to a stop by something powerful and strong grabbing him by his right wrist. Surrounded by dirt and tree roots, all he could think to do was to look down. He couldn't see the bottom, though. Not a single pinhole of light. Nothing. It seemed…endless.

It was…almost like when he was…the Forgotten Capital and the Yggdrasil Titan.

"Got ya!"

Startled, Baldur snapped his head back to look up. He blinked at the harsh sunlight for a moment, but he soon realised what was happening. Blayden had somehow managed to lurch forward fast enough to snare him by his wrist to stop him from falling further into the sinkhole.

"Hold on," Blayden urged as he tightened his grip on Baldur's wrist and wrestled slightly in an attempt to get enough leverage to pull him up.

But…

"I-idiot," Baldur said in a slightly panicky way. "Let go. The ground in unstable. You'll fall, too."

"Then stop staring at me like a stunned fish and start climbing," Blayden retorted swiftly.

O-oh, right.

Cautiously, but hastily, Baldur twisted himself around slightly so that he could reach up with his left hand and grasp at Blayden's arm. Digging his feet into the walls of the sinkhole, using the roots and stones as leverage, he was able to steady himself enough for Blayden to get a solid purchase on his end, and with a surprisingly powerful tug, managed to pull him up half way out of his dirty entombment.

And with another sound tug, Blayden was able to feel him completely. He kept a firm hold on his hand as he pulled Baldur against his side and positioned them both away from the sinkhole.

With his heartrate spiking and his breathing surprisingly laboured, Baldur unconsciously kept a firm grip on Blayden's hand as he looked over his shoulder at the exposed pit sitting inauspicious in the green grass of the Lush Woodlands.

"Whew, that was close," Blayden muttered as he breathed a sigh of relief.

…That was…

Blayden then tightened his hand around Baldur's, tugging on their joined hands slightly in order to get Baldur's attention.

Startled, Baldur turned his attention to the blond, realising very quickly that he was looking at him in concern.

"Are you all right?"

Baldur felt surprisingly shaky as he nodded his head. "Y-yeah, I'm fine. T-thanks."

Blayden, however, only deepened his frown. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," Baldur immediately stated as he shook his head and squared his shoulders. He was acting stupid. Honestly, that wasn't the most terrifying thing that had ever happened to him. It was a simple hole in the ground. It wouldn't have killed him. Probably barely even hurt him.

"No, it's something," Blayden insisted as he reached up with his other hand to grasp Baldur's shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine," Baldur insisted firmly again, keeping his gaze at their surroundings as he tried to tug his hand free. However, Blayden wasn't letting go. He only tightened his grip.

Finally, Baldur breathed a sigh and relented. He knew the blond would not leave him alone until he blurted it all out anyway. "It's…for a second there I thought I was back in that damn ravine at the Forgotten Capital," he confessed as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut in an attempt to ward off the memories. "With the Yggdrasil Titan and t-that curse. That's all."

The smell of dirt, the sight of tree roots spiralling around him. Suffocating him. The sky far above, barely visible. Lying there in the shadows, in pain, unable to move. Barely even able to breath.

He was suddenly transported back to that time, to the resurrection of the titan.

It only lasted for a second, but it was enough. Enough for him to fear that everything he had learnt and encountered up to this point had been nothing but a dream. That he was still lying at the bottom of the Forgotten Capital. Staring up at the sky through a painful haze. Waiting for death.

Baldur was abruptly pulled from his memories by something encircling him. Startled, he immediately tensed and snapped open his eyes. He, however, soon felt confused when he realised that Blayden had moved and was the one to wrap his arms around him tightly.

Blayden was…hugging him?

"Wha-?"

"You don't need to worry about that anymore," Blayden unexpectedly said, interrupting him as he tightened his arms around him in a rather protective manner. "I'll always be around to catch you before you fall."

All of a sudden, Baldur felt something sting in his eyes. Tears? No, couldn't be. His vision was blurry, though. H-he must have a bit of dirt in his eyes. "Why?"

"Because I am your guardian," Blayden quickly returned as he nuzzled his cheek rather affectionately against the side of Baldur's head. "And because I don't want you to be hurt again."

…Was that true?

It was, wasn't it?

"That's…so cheesy," Baldur murmured as he rested his cheek on Blayden's shoulder, slowly relaxing in his hold. He knew that, as a prince, he shouldn't succumb to such things like the concern and affection from another. But…

No one else was around, anyway. It was fine. No one else needed to know. Just this once.

"I knew you would think so," Blayden returned with a slight sense of mirth in his voice. But he kept his arms around him all the same.

God, what a simple-minded fool. But it was endearing, all the same.


	5. In the Heat of the Bite

**Title:** In the Heat of the Bite

 **Pairings:** Zesiro/Roxbury

 **Prompt:** A Love Bite

 **Words:** 2,122

 **AN:** I would have had this up sooner, but I had a fall and landed on my back, and it still hurts like hell. Sitting still is uncomfortable and the painkillers make me a little loopy, to say the least. Not at all fun.

Anyway, this turned out a little hotter than originally intended. I wanted it to be a rather humorous, but it didn't turn out that way. I blame Zesiro. He's a terrible muse.

* * *

Roxbury tugged at the collar of his shirt idly. He wasn't wearing his normal clothes, clothing he would wear under his armour, or explorer gear as they were referred to more often than not. Instead he was wearing a simple black short sleeved t-shirt, which was a size too big, over his maroon pants. The clothes themselves were comfortable, but to be honest, he wasn't exactly used to wearing them. He was more used to his armour.

His armour, however, had been hidden from him in a desperate attempt to keep him out of 'trouble' and to ensure that he would heal fully and completely from his latest batch of injuries. His hostage _stint_ in the Cloudy Stronghold and the Hall of Darkness was over a month ago now, but his guildmates were still very protective toward him. And would continue to be for quite some time.

His family was adamant that he would heal properly and peacefully this time. And he had no say in the matter whatsoever.

Fortunately, he had been granted 'privilege' to walk freely around town. Thank goodness for minor miracles. If he had to stay in one place until he healed completely he would go stark raving mad.

Speaking of going mad; Zesiro had been following him around pretty much all day today, for some reason. He mentioned something about him being too vulnerable from his clothes, but Roxbury wasn't entirely sure what he meant. He was probably making his usual snide comment about him being 'scrawny' just to get a reaction out of him.

Roxbury had to silently admit, though, that arguing with Zesiro (without any vindictiveness or cruelty) was somewhat enjoyable. It made him forget of his injuries for the moment.

He was still playfully arguing with the blond when he returned to the Researchers' Clinic where he was living while regaining his strength. The only ones inside for the moment were Isiah and Kalan, the medic in his office and Kalan sitting at the kitchen table, looking incredibly bored.

Isiah, of course, gave him the 'stink-eye' the moment Zesiro entered the premises, but said nothing. Zesiro, however, seemed entertained more than intimidated, sending the irritated medic an overly amused grin before quickly following Roxbury upstairs to his own room.

Roxbury thought that he may have heard the lock on the door engage when Zesiro followed him into the room, but he brushed it aside. Instead, he walked over to the three draw dresser that held a medium sized mirror on top and sorted through the array of medicinal bottles for him to take. He idly glanced up into the mirror and could see Zesiro's reflection, quickly realising that other man was standing right behind. And he had a particular expression on his face, like that of contemplation.

Before Roxbury could muse anymore about it, Zesiro suddenly wrapped his arms around him from behind, pinning his hips against the dresser. Roxbury immediately gasped in surprised and turned his head slightly to demand what Zesiro was doing. Instead, he yelped embarrassingly loudly when Zesiro pulled back the collar of his shirt and sunk his teeth into the delicate flesh of where his neck met his shoulder.

"Zesiro!" Roxbury unwillingly squeaked as he reached up with his hand in an attempt to push the blond-haired imperial's head away from his neck. "Did you just bite me? What is wrong with you?"

Zesiro grinned wickedly at him in the mirror as he kept his arms around him, easily preventing Roxbury from squirming out of his hold. "Couldn't help it," he said. "You look delicious in these clothes."

Roxbury rolled his eyes as he continued to squirm. There was a slight tingling, stinging sensation where Zesiro had bitten him, but it wasn't what he could call painful. The action itself surprised him more.

"I also wanted to mark my property," Zesiro added, appearing almost smug for some reason.

"Your property?" Roxbury muttered as he stopped struggling, realising with only slight annoyance that it was a fruitless venture. Instead, he reached up to gingerly touch the bite mark with his fingers. He couldn't see any blood in the mirror, and when he pulled his hand back, his fingertips revealed no blood either.

Zesiro, however, continued to look incredibly smug. Then again, when did he not look self-assured?

"Aw, does it hurt?" he asked.

Roxbury scowled at him in the mirror and reached up to lightly smack him upside the head. "You bit me. Of course it does."

"How about I kiss it better?"

"How about you-Ah!"

Roxbury yelped loudly again when Zesiro suddenly pressed his mouth against his neck, consecutively nibbling on the skin with his teeth and sucking on the flesh in order to leave a purposeful bruise.

Instead of reacting by trying to push the other away (like he should), Roxbury desperately grasped at the edge of the dresser with one hand while the other flew up to cover his mouth, attempting to smother the surprising keening noises that were slipping past his lips.

He was just so surprised by how good it felt. The sensation of Zesiro's lips against the side of his throat caused tingles of delight to race down his spine. It was embarrassing, though. The sounds he was making. The soft whimpers, the breathless sighs. He was surprised by how sensitive his neck truly was.

His gaze unwittingly flickered toward the mirror and he abruptly squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He was as flushed in the face as he felt.

D-damn. Not only was Zesiro's tongue sharp with wit, it was also talented.

"Zesiro, stop," Roxbury murmured breathlessly as he half-heartedly tried to push him away. "Y-you're going to leave a mark."

Zesiro raked his teeth over the darkening bruise. "That's the point."

In spite of his protests, Roxbury still tilted his head slightly to the side to allow him greater access to his neck. "B-but everyone will see."

"That's also the point," Zesiro said as he moved his attention from Roxbury's neck to nibble his ear in an almost taunting manner. "They need to see you're unavailable."

Roxbury was unable to supress a shiver. "Who?"

"Your many admirers, of course."

A frown tugged on Roxbury's lips and he opened his eyes to stare at Zesiro through the mirror. "What admirers? What are you talking about?"

Zesiro snorted slightly as he turned his attention back to his 'love bite' against Roxbury's neck once more. "The ones who dream of doing this kind of thing to you."

It was Roxbury's turn to snort in disbelief. "Honestly," he murmured. "No one else would want to do anything like this with me."

Zesiro abruptly pulled his mouth away from Roxbury's throat to unexpectedly bury his face against his shoulder. To smother a laugh, of all things. "Fuck, you're so innocent," he muttered.

Before Roxbury could form a retort of any kind, Zesiro tightened his arms around him further before abruptly pulling him away from the dresser and toward the bed. Then, he pushed him down onto the bed before quickly climbing over him, planting his hands on either side of Roxbury's head, his legs on either side of his thighs. Roxbury felt his cheeks heat up substantially and his breath left him in a rush when he registered how intense Zesiro's gaze was.

"W-what has gotten into you?" Roxbury found himself asking as he lay prone against the mattress…and underneath Zesiro.

Zesiro was silent for a moment as he continued to gaze intently down at him. "I guess I'm surprisingly insecure about a few things."

Roxbury wanted to snort in mirth before making a humorous comment about it not being possible, but he found himself unable to utter a sound. That expression on Zesiro's face. There was no mirth. No mocking or teasing. He was being serious.

Slowly, Roxbury reached up with his hand to gently touch the side of Zesiro's face with his fingers. "What's wrong?"

"Imperials were never allowed to touch anyone," Zesiro unexpectedly said as he continued to intently gaze down at him.

Yes, he knew that. Was that why he was continuously touching him?

"Are you trying to remind yourself that it doesn't have to be that way anymore?" Roxbury asked softly.

…And was he afraid of losing that ability? Of losing him?

"I guess so," Zesiro replied, his voice rather…flat. Contemplative. "Also, to prove that we Imperials can touch another without inducing pain and suffering."

Roxbury felt his chest tighten slightly as he gently rubbed his thumb over Zesiro's cheek. "…Biting me wasn't the best way to go about it."

Zesiro barked out a curt laugh that held a small sense of mirth before unexpectedly sighing and dropping his head forward, resting his forehead against Roxbury's chest. To sat that Roxbury was surprised was an understatement. However, he also felt a sense of concern wash over him.

"I blame you for that," Zesiro murmured under his breath. "Honestly, I don't know what I want to do these things with you," he admitted before softly adding, "Only you."

Although his blush deepened, Roxbury felt his gaze soften. In truth, he wasn't entirely sure why he was letting the other man do these types of things to him either. That wasn't the say that he didn't enjoy it, though. That would be an outright lie.

"Do you want me to stop?" Zesiro unexpectedly asked, causing a suddenly trill of panic to rise in Roxbury's chest.

"Idiot," he said as he placed on hand against the back of Zesiro's neck, the other idly toying with the strands of his blond hair. "If I didn't want any of this, you'd think I'd continuously let it happen? Even if I couldn't beat you off, I'm sure I can find someone in my guild to do so."

Slowly, Zesiro lifted his head off of Roxbury's chest to look down at him once again. However, he didn't move very far at all. Roxbury still had his fingers gripping the back of his neck, so Zesiro stayed leaning over him.

"We'll just…have to see where this goes, I suppose," Roxbury added after a quiet moment between them.

"Hm," Zesiro made a noise of agreement before dropping down to rest on his elbows, impeccably moving intimately closer toward Roxbury. Nothing more than a few inches separated them.

Roxbury kept his hands against the back of Zesiro's neck, his eyes slipping close when Zesiro leaned forward, obviously wanting to kiss him.

However, before their lips could meet, the door to the room was forcibly kicked open and Roxbury felt himself tensing, his eyes snapping open as he looked over at the door. Inexplicably, he kept his arms around Zesiro's neck as the blond-haired man lifted himself off of him enough to turn and glare at the intruder.

Standing there in the threshold, almost like an ominous shadow, was none other than Isiah. And the talented medic did not look the least bit pleased.

"Not under my roof," Isiah said simply.

"I-Isiah?" Roxbury squeaked as he all but threw Zesiro off of him. He sat up on the bed and tugged at the collar of his shirt. "It's not what it looks like."

Isiah simply gave him that gaze. That stare that was steely and cold. The one he would give to those he didn't believe. "Really?"

"I mean…" Roxbury uttered, trying desperately to think of something to say that wouldn't increase how scandalous he must look right about now. However, he felt himself frown slightly as a sense of indignity washed over him. "Wait, were you waiting outside my door?"

Isiah simply looked at him as a familiar brown-haired runemaster peeked out from around him, looking stoic as usual, despite the almost victorious wave of his hand. "Hello."

"Kalan," Zesiro practically growled as he pushed himself up off the floor Roxbury had unintentionally pushed him to. "Should have known, you little bitch."

Isiah's glare suddenly narrowed further. "What's that on your neck?" he asked, directing his complete attention to Roxbury.

Roxbury blinked. "M-my neck?"

"Yes," Isiah replied firmly. " _Your_ neck."

"What-?" Roxbury abruptly cut himself off when his fingertips brushed over the obvious bite-mark that Zesiro had so determinedly placed upon his neck. And he froze.

...Oh shit.

Zesiro was a dead man.

"N-nothing," Roxbury found himself squeaking again and desperately tried to cover the bruise up with his shirt.

There was a noticeable twitch of Isiah's right eyebrow. "Kalan?"

"He's lying through his ass," Kalan supplied readily with his usual stoic smugness.

Roxbury broke out into a cold sweat. There was nothing he could say or do now. It was over. The only thing he could think of was to turn to Zesiro and hiss desperately to him;

"Zesiro; _run_. Now!"

* * *

 **AN:** Really glad I got this one done. Now, I'm gonna crawl back into bed for a while. Night.


	6. Of Comfort and Sleeping In

**Title:** Of Comfort and Sleeping In

 **Pairings:** Achyuta/Nitish

 **Prompt:** 27\. Accidentally Sleeping In

 **Words:** 1,964

 **AN:** 7th Dragon's ending killed me dead. Needed time to recover and post fics about my denials. Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

Nitish felt slightly groggy and dazed as he opened his eyes, his limbs feeling heavy and somewhat unresponsive. But he was lying somewhere warm and was intensely comfortable. He immediately recognised it to be his bed, in his room. Blinking to rid himself the bleariness of his sight, he lifted his head from the pillow and blushed lightly when he realised that Achyuta's face was mere inches away from his.

But the other man was sound asleep. Achyuta was lying on his side, his back toward the wall beside the bed, and his arm was draped over Nitish's waist while the other was beneath the pillow under his head.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Nitish laid his head back down upon the pillow and silently gazed upon Achyuta's sleeping face. He couldn't help but slowly lift his hand to gently trail a feather-light touch across Achyuta's cheek. He looked slightly different without his glasses, but he was just as handsome with them off as he was with them on.

Strong jawline. Slight dimples when he smiled with amusement. His eyes would sparkle too whenever he was sincerely happy.

Achyuta, however, looked slightly pale, much to Nitish's concern. And it promptly reminded him of the events leading to the other man resting in Nitish's bed with him.

Poor Achyuta had a severe and uncontrollable coughing fit late yesterday evening. It started as a slight wheeze and a sense of breathlessness. Isiah immediately noticed, of course, and pulled him into the patient room. However, soon after that, Achyuta started coughing incessantly, lightly at first but soon turned uncontrollable that he found it difficult breathing. The coughing and wheezing lasted nearly an hour, leaving him drained and absolutely exhausted. And Nitish sat by his side the entire time, only able to offer the minimal support, which was something that pained him greatly. Letting the fit pass rather than try to suppress it was in reality the best thing they could do for him.

Isiah was very concerned, though he tried to hide it with an expression of practiced passiveness. But Nitish could easily sense his worry. He was also slightly baffled as to why the coughing fit had even come from. Achyuta's lungs had been improving since he was placed on his medicine.

Perhaps something had been dislodged from his lungs, causing irritation and/or inflammation? Whatever the cause, Isiah was going to find out.

Achyuta, however, needed rest. Quite a bit of it, too.

Wanting to be the one who took care of Achyuta for once, Nitish immediately helped Achyuta to his room and allowed him to rest in his bed. Of course, he slept alongside him as Achyuta wouldn't settle unless he felt Nitish's reassuring warmth next to him. When Nitish slipped beneath the blankets next to him, Achyuta immediately wrapped his arms around him and fell asleep. Nitish, however, wouldn't let himself sleep until he was certain that Achyuta's ailment was under control.

To say he had a fitful night would be an understatement.

Thankfully, the others of their guild weren't present when Achyuta fell ill. If they were, the attack may have lasted longer simply due to the fact that Achyuta would try to suppress his symptoms and try to either reassure or apologise after every breath.

Carefully, Nitish sat up in bed, doing his very best not to disturb Achyuta from his sleep. But he needn't worry; Achyuta was exhausted. Being ill was exhausting. No one truly understood how tiring being ill could be. Coughing fits where one was barely able to get enough oxygen drained even more energy. And they were frightening, too. Not being able to breathe probably. The panic and fear that maybe they were breathing their last breathe…

Curling a strand of his blond hair behind his ear, Nitish stayed still for a few moments longer and simply watched as Achyuta slept. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and his face was clear of discomfort and pain. He was resting peacefully. Thank goodness.

Gently running his fingers through Achyuta's hair to both sooth it down and to reassure himself, Nitish reached for the blankets and draped them carefully over him. He then turned his gaze away from his lover and toward the window, trying to discern what time it could be.

And by the bright light behind the curtains, it must be late morning. They had slept in. It had been a while since he had done that. Sleeping in in the warmth of Achyuta's arms was indeed a pleasant experience. Pity about the circumstances, though.

After reassuring himself that Achyuta was still asleep, Nitish silently slipped out of bed and grabbed his robe. He wanted to speak with Isiah, to see if he had made any discoveries during the night and whether he had to increase his medicine intake.

Silently making his way out of his room and down the stairs, the first person Nitish spied in the seating area was Roxbury. With him, lounging casually in a seat in front of him was Achyuta's twin brother, Zesiro. And it appeared as though Roxbury was silently repriming the man about something. Something that Zesiro seemed overly smug about.

Something else Nitish noticed; Roxbury was wearing a scarf. He had never seen the brown-haired fortress wear a scarf before.

Sighing exasperatedly at Zesiro, Roxbury idly glanced in Nitish's direction before quickly doing a double-take and giving him his full attention. "Morning Nitish," he said with a smile that held a hint of concern. "You weren't up all night making medicas again, were you?"

"Not this time, no," Nitish said with a shake of his head, his slightly messy blond hair falling over his shoulders from the motion. "Unfortunately Achyuta had a rather severe coughing fit last night and is staying in my room."

Roxbury's concern was plain to see and sense, but as Nitish glanced over the fortress's shoulder, he noticed that he had gained Zesiro's attention as well. Though his concern was more discreet than Roxbury's, the way he had his head slightly tilted in their direction, as well as the waves of concern in his aura, he was interested to learn more.

"Is he all right?" Roxbury asked.

"Yes, he seems to be over the worse," Nitish answered truthfully, folding his hands idly in front of him. However, a moment later a sense of realisation washed over him and he turned his gaze toward Roxbury. "Oh, that's right. Achyuta had an appointment to see the Count today to discuss ways to help the Imperial soldiers to better acclimatise within Tharsis, but I think it would be best for him to take it easy today. Do you think you can talk to the Count for us?"

"Oh, yes, that shouldn't be a problem," Roxbury immediately replied without hesitation. "I'll head over there now. And I'll take this lazy bum with me," he finished, waving an idle hand in Zesiro's direction.

However, Zesiro sighed, seemingly disappointed by something. "Is that the best insult you can offer me?"

Roxbury rolled his eyes as he moved toward the front door of the clinic, smacking the top of Zesiro's head as he walked past. "Get a move on."

Zesiro released a dramatic sigh, but pushed himself to his feet nonetheless. "Fine, oh gracious leader."

"Don't call me that."

Zesiro ignored him. Instead, he turned his gaze in Nitish's direction, his expression stoic, but his eyes quite intense. "Hey."

Nitish tilted his head to the side. "Hm?"

"Tell that idiot to stop pushing himself so hard," Zesiro said before abruptly turning on his heel and hastily walking toward the front door.

"I will," Nitish said with a small smile just before the slightly older twin exited the building. His concern was palpable.

Turning his gaze from the front door and toward the kitchen, Nitish immediately noticed a lone bottle of medicine sitting in the middle of the kitchen table with a note underneath it. He knew straightaway that Isiah left it for Achyuta.

Carefully scooping the medicine and note into his hands, Nitish made his way back upstairs, idly reading the note as he did so. And just as he thought, the note was instructions on how often to give Achyuta the medicine with the underlying threat to make sure he took it easy for the next couple of days.

Just as Nitish reached the top of the stairs, the door to his room opened and Achyuta staggered out, his hair dishevelled, his clothes wrinkled, and his glasses hastily placed on his nose. His expression was dazed, his posture unsteady. He must have just woken up, realised that it was late in the morning, and abruptly rolled out of bed to dutifully fulfil his commitments.

Achyuta leaned against the doorframe for a moment, idly fiddling with his glasses as he drew in slow, steady breaths as he mumbled something about causing enough trouble.

Nitish shook his head before hastily making his way over to the former imperial. He stood in front of him and placed his hand upon his chest, instantly gaining his full and complete attention. "Go back to bed," he said simply.

"I have an appointment with the Count," Achyuta relayed to him with a slight wheeze in his voice. "I-it's important."

"That's been cancelled," Nitish said simply again as he effortlessly pushed the other man back into his room and toward the bed.

Achyuta shook his head slightly, but that only caused him to become even more unbalanced and he grabbed onto Nitish's upper arms to steady himself. "But-"

Nitish raised his hand and gently placed a finger to Achyuta's lips, prompting him to fall silent. "Roxbury is speaking to the Count for you. He will understand that you're not feeling well."

Unable to find the strength to argue back, Achyuta sighed and nodded his head. He smiled shyly when Nitish reached up and removed his glasses. "I'll apologise later."

"Yes, later," Nitish agreed as he gently pressed his hand against Achyuta's chest to push him to sit onto the edge of the bed, of which he did without any resistance. "Now, drink some of this and lie down."

Obediently taking the bottle of medicine from Nitish's hand, Achyuta removed the cap and took a slow sip of the tonic. For a split second, there was a grimace of distaste of his face, but he soon sighed with relief. The tonic, thankfully, was giving him some relief. He then fell onto the bed with a slight 'fwumph', lying on his back. He lay still, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as if to ward off a wave of nausea.

Quietly, Nitish placed Achyuta's glasses upon the bedside table and shuffled toward the bedroom door to close it, giving him privacy and silence. He then quickly made his way back toward the bed to check on Achyuta's health once more, only to fall silent when the other suddenly snared his wrist in his hand and opened his eyes to look up at him. Wordlessly, Achyuta tugged at his hand, motioning to him to slip onto the bed next to him.

Without any hesitation, Nitish dropped onto the bed next to Achyuta, the two effortlessly positioning themselves comfortably where Nitish was the one lying on his back, gently cradling Achyuta's head against his chest. Lying on his side, Achyuta's arms were instantly around Nitish's waist, holding him closely.

With Nitish tenderly running his fingers through Achyuta's hair, it wasn't long before he nodded off and fell into a deep sleep. Nitish stayed awake, though, mildly noting how nice it was that he was able to offer Achyuta some comfort and reassurance for once.

Next time they sleep in, though, he would enjoy it better if neither of them were ill.

* * *

 **AN:** These two are so fluffy together~


	7. A New Normal

**Title:** A New Normal

 **Pairings:** Mentioning of many

 **Prompt:** Tumblr request

 **Words:** 2,004

 **Warnings:** None

 **AN:** This was fun to write. Writing from Isiah's pov is always interesting~

* * *

Isiah had been a medic well over ten years now. His father was a medic so it was only natural that he followed in his footsteps. Because of that, when he first started he wasn't as 'green' or naive as other medics were. He had already witnessed the dangers of the Old Forest Mine and the Windy Plains. While others blanched at the open, erratic injuries from monster attacks, he took them in stride.

Aloof. Detached. Cold. He was called a lot of things during his fledging years. And honestly, he couldn't care less. While the other fledging medics alongside him were 'cute' and 'enthusiastic', most of the veterans explorers would purposely sought him out as he didn't immediately start weeping or cringing at their injuries. He would ask minor, nonintrusive questions before healing them and sending them on their way.

It was always best that a medic didn't become attached to anyone within the explorer/adventurer trade. And with a city that relied heavily on those eager for fame and fortune though adventure that was about everyone that Isiah met during his rounds. He had decided then not to get attached to anyone. It was better that way. Heal what needed to be healed and then move on. Simple.

That was, until his father came home with two injured children. Twins. Varuna and Nitish. One on the brink of unconsciousness from a head wound but desperate to stay awake, the other holding his brother's hand tightly, blood striking down his left cheek and crying the softest tears Isiah had ever witnessed.

That was the first time he had ever felt a strong sense of determination. Not only did he want to heal the two of their injuries, but he also felt compelled to take care of them. His father felt the same. There was no discussion about allowing the twins to stay with them. It was left unspoken. It didn't need to be said.

Varuna and Nitish were so…small back then. Fragile. Vulnerable. Delicate. Scarred. All those things.

Although Isiah did not know of their origins back then, he knew something terrible had happen to them. They were found wandering around the Old Forest Mine, both injured. Varuna with amnesia, Nitish with loss of vision in his left eye.

For years Varuna had fitful nights, plague by dreams he couldn't remember in the morning. And Nitish did not utter a word until two years later. He would only communicate by pointing or, more often than not, turn to Varuna to get him to relay what he wanted to tell them. Varuna didn't need to hear his brother's voice to know what he was thinking or what he wanted to say.

The first thing Nitish said to him was 'thank you' before scurrying away. And when Isiah heard that, he knew that he and his father made the right decision to keep the two under their wings.

When his father passed away from a long, silent illness, Isiah took his place as the head medical researcher for Tharsis. He also continued to take care of Varuna and Nitish, urging the two to become researchers in their own right. Which they did. And they excelled at it.

After that, life became somewhat predictable. Varuna would be handed supplies and materials from the labyrinth to research for any toxins, the materials then handed over to Nitish to create any useful tonics for explorers, and Isiah would do his rounds at the clinics attached to the numerous inns around town. He would meet rookie explorer after dumbass rookie explorer.

Isiah would like to note that the first time he used a mace on a patient; it wasn't because the patient was delusional or disruptive. The guy was a dumbass. Plain and simple. He refused to wear armour and stated that using modified weapons diminishes the natural purity of exploration.

Stupid people deserved a mace to the head.

Life became a bit monotonous, but it was satisfying nonetheless.

Of course, that changed again when Varuna returned from an unknown jaunt to the Lush Woodlands suddenly and brought back with him an injured explorer. An explorer who was injured protecting him.

After learning that, Isiah knew that he owed the brown-haired landsknecht a large debt, so gave him the best treatment he could. He was somewhat surprised that while Bryce put on a brave face in front of his guild, when Isiah closed the door to the patient room, Bryce became one of his most complying patients to date. Whether it was because he knew that his injury was worse than expected or knew of Isiah's healing methods through the grapevine.

Whatever the reason, Isiah felt that he was different from those other explorers he had encountered. And if Varuna trusted him enough to enter the Lush Woodlands with, then maybe he wasn't as much of a dumbass as other guilds.

It wasn't until he met with Roxbury and Mahalah, and asking around the town about the two did he realise that maybe Varuna and Nitish becoming explorers themselves would be the best for them. He had little desire to become one himself, but he knew the two wouldn't feel comfortable without him joining along. He also wanted to keep an eye on them.

It was neither the best decision nor the worst decision. It was the right one. And that was all that mattered.

It was good to see Varuna and Nitish finally blossoming into confident individuals as they spent more time with their new guild. Varuna was a lot feistier than Isiah had thought he could be, and Nitish was showing emotions other than passive but shy vulnerability.

But he never thought he would become attached to yet more people. A guild of them, no less. Bryce with his stubbornness to pull Varuna out of his shell. Roxbury with his strength but silent insecurity. Mahalah with his calm demeanour and relentless support. Falkner with his sharp wit and amical personality. Blayden with his enthusiasm and optimism. Fletcher with his cheekiness and impish nature. Miach with his airy behaviour but surprisingly insightfulness. Zoran with his adorable character and innocent inquisitiveness. Biast with his humble and wise trustworthiness. And Achyuta with his dedication and willingness to protect Nitish in any way that he could.

It wasn't just his guild, either.

There was also Logre. He had known him for about ten years, as Whirlwind though, not Logre. They weren't quite friends, but not just acquaintances either. He knew that Logre carried a heavy burden during those years, but he never imagined how heavy or dark. Isiah didn't hold that against him, though. In spite of Logre wishing that he would.

These days he could see that Logre was slowly easing himself out of the guilt he felt after withholding his true nature and origin from those who welcomed him with open arms for ten years. He was also slowly (oh-so fucking slowly) allowing himself to spend time with Kirjonen. Almost everyone was aware that Kirjonen adored Lorge, but the latter was hesitant. His past, and surprising inferior complex, was holding him back. He didn't want to hurt Kirjonen, you see.

But their passive flirting was starting to annoy a lot of people.

And then there was his favourite patient, Baldur. The teenage brat was by far the most difficult patient he had encountered. Haughty, arrogant, stubborn. He was also surprisingly sneaky. No one had escaped his clutches as much as Baldur had. However, he had calmed down considerably after spending time with the Phaedron guild. And after everything that had happened, after Blayden became his 'guardian', be had mellowed out even further. He was still a snot-nose brat in Isiah's opinion, but that was what most teenagers his age were. And Baldur acting as a teenager rather than a prince with the weight of the world on his shoulders was far more desirable.

Scaring him was still entertaining, though.

Isiah, however, still wasn't sure what to make of their 'new additions'. He liked Kalan, though, that snarky piece of shit. Although he was reversibly blind, it was good to know that there was someone else who saw through all the bullshit of denials from all the 'couples in potential'. Mahalah could see it, too, but he wasn't quite as delightfully bitchy as Kalan was.

Xander was a former puppet who was trying to cope with independence, but thankfully Ciaran was easing him through it. Their relationship, however, was new to the both of them, so they were moving very slowly.

Zesiro, Achyuta's twin, was a wild card he didn't like and he couldn't help but wonder what Roxbury saw in the egotistical maniac. He was going to be keeping his eye on that one. And if he saw one more fucking bite mark…

Telem was just too…shadowy for him to get a handle on, though Falkner seemed to find it easy to be around him. Isiah trusted Falkner enough to keep that nightseeker out of trouble.

And Durriken was…complicated. Outwardly, he appeared passive and apathetic. But after spending time with him, and checking on him medically, there was a lot going on with him. He was very ill and underweight. And utterly terrified of food. It was going to take some time to help him through his phobia.

He really couldn't divulge much on Yesmina. She was far too skittish for him to even talk to. Wiglaf absolutely adored her, though. And he had learnt over the years to simply leave that brown-haired dancer to her own devices.

"Isiaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

Isiah leaned back in his chair and released a loud sigh when he heard his name being called in an insistent, but not panicky manner. He watched as Blayden bounded into his office, carrying in his arms a struggling, red-faced Baldur.

"Isiah, Baldur fell down a set of stairs and I think he twisted his ankle," Blayden told him bluntly.

The blush on Baldur's face deepened when Isiah arched an eyebrow at him and he increased in his struggling. "I did _not_ fall down a set of stairs. And I did _not_ injure my ankle."

"You fell over again when you stood up."

"T-that's because I stood up too quickly."

"Did you receive a head injury then?"

"I'll give you a head injury if you don't put me down this second!"

Before Isiah could deal with the two squabbling teenagers Bryce unexpectedly walked into the room. He gave the two still bickering pair a quick sideways glance before shrugging it off and folding his arms across his chest as he turned his attention to Isiah.

"Hey, Isiah, Varuna hasn't slept in 38 hours. Is there something I can force down his throat to finally get him to sleep?" Bryce asked.

"I can hear you, Bryce!"

"Oh, you can hear me now? You couldn't comprehend a thing I was saying to you earlier!"

Again, before Isiah could answer Bryce, Mahalah suddenly popped his head into his office, a slight frown on his face.

"Isiah, sorry, I know you're busy but Roxbury is hiding something from me," Mahalah said. "He's wearing a scarf. I've never seen him wear a scarf. Did he hurt his neck?"

"He was bitten by a dumbass mosquito," Kalan answered from the direction of the kitchen.

"Mosquito?"

"Yup. A tall and blond leech."

"Is that so…?"

The front door suddenly slammed open. "Isiah! Kirjonen has a fever."

"I-I'm fine, Logre. Really. Y-you can put me down now."

"Isiah!" Fletcher squawked from somewhere inside. "Miach just walked into a door! Again!"

"I'm ok!"

"You're bleeding!"

Isiah sighed loudly as he heaved himself to his feet, prepared to take on all his new patients. Trivial complaints for a top medical researcher.

Just over a year ago, Isiah's normal day consisted of reading medical reports, visiting clinics to deal with difficult cases, and resisting the urge to physical beat some sense into crappy explorers who demanded free healing.

But now…things were different. Noisy. Hectic.

Honestly, though, he wouldn't change it for the world.


	8. Silent Fury

**Title:** Silent Fury

 **Pairings:** mild Bryce/Varuna

 **Prompt:** Anonymous request – Silent Assassin Mode Varuna

 **Words:** 1,828

 **Warnings:** Violence

 **AN:** I'm always open for requests, especially if they're about my own created characters~

* * *

Varuna had to admit that he hated the 'secret areas' of the Lush Woodlands. It wasn't a surprise and, in all honesty, he suspected that a lot of members of his guild hated the third floor as much as he did.

Glancing over at a large baobab tree that had been severed cleanly in half, Varuna winced.

The…last time he was here Nitish fainted suddenly from a menacing aura and Bryce was attacked by Telem, only so that the nightseeker could put Varuna in what he called Silent Assassin Mode in order to save Roxbury from a resurrected dragon. Obviously at the time he didn't know that. He just…wanted the other nightseeker dead for daring to strike out at Bryce with a knife. Right in front of him.

He…didn't really remember much of what happened after that to be completely honest. He remembered snatching Achyuta's driveblade with the sole intent of hunting Telem down and making him _pay_. Nothing was to stand in his way. He also remembered feeling the almost supressing aura of something powerful and dangerous. And that powerful aura was trying to devour Roxbury.

After that…anger and rage. Telem was right in front of him, but his anger toward the Sand Leviathan was stronger. It was trying to kill Roxbury. It was trying to kill his leader and teammate. His friend.

Just wanted to kill it. Kill that fucking dragon. Kill it to save Roxbury and then go after Telem. He hated Telem for hurting Bryce, but what he had done was nothing compared to what that dragon was doing to Roxbury.

He was actually sorta glad that Durriken used that Ariadne Thread to warp him, along with his partner Telem, out of the labyrinth and away from him. Varuna had just decapitated a dragon. He didn't even want to imagine what he might have done to Telem should he have gotten his hands on him.

He didn't want to be like that again…

Honestly, if the little brothers of the guild weren't so insistent in exploring the area, Varuna would be happy to never set foot in these naturally formed pathways beyond the Throne ever again.

A hand landing on his shoulder pulled Varuna from his thoughts. Thankful for the distraction, Varuna looked over at the hand before glancing up at the owner. The silent question of his wellbeing in deep blue eyes brought a small smile on his lips. "I'm fine, Bryce," he said.

Bryce, still grasping his shoulder, didn't look all that convinced. He chose not to comment further and simply squeezed Varuna's shoulder in a reassuring manner. "Another hour or two and we're out of here," he said instead.

Varuna nodded his head, silently relieved. And he was about to respond when a noise, a sound that could only be described as a loud roar, caused him to become tense, his hands reaching for his blades. He shared a quick glance with Bryce, their gaze lingering for just a moment before they both abruptly spun around, turning their backs toward each other while instantaneously looking for the younger members of their party.

Just as Varuna gripped the handles of his weapons and counted only Baldur and Fletcher, the trees settled within the thick undergrowth of the naturally formed walls of the labyrinth shook violently. And then…a dark blue blur suddenly appeared.

Black claws. Red eyes. Blue fur. White teeth.

A blue furred bear. A desouler.

And…it was running at full speed. Heading directly for…Baldur!

Before Baldur could react to the threat, all but watching with an expression of surprise on his face as the desouler lifted a claw to strike him down, Blayden suddenly tackled him to the side in time. The desouler swung its arm wildly, but hit nothing, thankfully.

But as they hit the ground a few feet away from the majority of their party, the shrubbery near where they landed suddenly bristled and…Varuna felt his heart quicken and his grip on his blades tighten.

There were two more. Three foes in total. All of them furious and vicious. One of them was approaching where Blayden and Baldur were, the two teenagers just barely recovering their breaths from the last attack. They hadn't seen it yet.

They…might not be able to handle a second attack!

Varuna felt a trill of _something_ race up his spine, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up on end when he heard Bryce all but scream out his brother's name. Then, he felt it.

Time slowed. His senses heightened. Everything but him seemed to have stopped. He could see everything so clearly.

A voice, cold and chilling, rambled around in his head. Identify the threat. Classify the level of danger. Detect the menace's weakness. Isolate the weak point.

Three desoulers. High danger. Lumbering in movement. Two vulnerabilities; neck and spine. Under the throat. Back of the head.

Focus on target. Stop it from attacking by any means necessary.

Attack without warning. Swift in assaults. No hesitation. Hesitation means death. No one was to die. Only monsters. Only threats.

One strike - one kill. Three foes, three rapid attacks.

 _Now_.

Gripping his blades tightly in his hands, Varuna sprung forward. His first target was the desouler closest to Blayden and Baldur. Claw in the air. Eyes red and piercing. Mouth wide, teeth gleaming. It was about to attack. It was the first threat. The biggest threat. The most dangerous.

It was going to be the first to die.

Appearing directly in front of the blue-furred beast, out of reach of its arms but mere inches away from the white tuff of fur on its chest, Varuna flicked his blades around and brought them together in front of him vertically. Straight up with a slight lean forward. With a suddenly lurch, he embedded the two slick blades deep into the soft, vulnerable area under its chin, the tips of his swords touching the base of the skull. Where spinal column joined the brain stem.

He barely registered the gargled cry of pain from the foe as he tightened his grip on his weapons, turned them slightly so that the sharp cutting edges faced away from each other. Suddenly, barely with an exertion or effort, he ripped the two blades out to the sides in an arching motion.

Varuna could feel the monster's threat level immediately drop.

Near decapitation.

Full incapacitation.

In a spray of blood, the desouler tilted to the side on its way to crumbling to the ground. But Varuna was already on the move. There were two more threats to take care of. Two threats he had to stop before they hurt anyone. He would not fail.

The other two foes never saw him coming. And all he could see of them, pass their glistening fangs and razor sharp claws, was their necks. Under the chin. Near the hinge of the jaw. The back of the neck.

Nothing else mattered. Kill. Kill the threat. Eliminate the threat. Destroy everything that was a danger to others. Even if it killed him in the process.

Just stop it…Just…stop it!

Two more strikes were all that was needed to stop the danger. One desouler had barely hit the ground before the other toppled over. Blood spurted from their necks. Both as incapacitated as the first.

All threats eliminated. Mission completed.

"Varuna!"

With the twin blades slipping from his hands, Varuna felt completely drained as he fell abruptly to his knees and then heavily onto his hands. His heightened sight and hearing abruptly faded into a neutral range. His white hair curtained around his face and shoulders as he stared at the ground with wide, unblinking eyes. He was breathing heavily from exertion. All his muscles ached from strain.

His head…his head was spinning. Flashes of a face he didn't recognise but feared. Large shadowy creatures. Each one wanting to harm him. But he would kill them first. Stop the danger. Eliminate the threat.

No…stop it. He didn't…want such thoughts in his head.

It…it happened again. He…

"Varuna, its ok," Bryce's voice cut through the haze of his mind. "We're all safe now."

…Good…

With something warm and strong wrapping around him tightly and securely, Varuna felt his eyes slip close and he lost consciousness.

… … … … …

Slowly opening his eyes, Varuna felt disorientated and unsteady. He felt as though he was moving, at a rather hurried pace, and yet he felt heavy and limp in his arms and legs. It took him a moment or two to realise that he was in fact being held, tightly and warmly, by a pair of familiar arms.

Barely having the energy or will power to move, Varuna glanced to one side to see the blur of green foliage and tall trees rushing past. Looking to his other side he saw a familiar breast plate of armour.

He couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. Bryce was carrying him. His head was resting on Bryce's shoulder as the brown-haired landsknecht kept his gaze forward, carrying him effortlessly through the Lush Woodlands. He could see that Bryce's brow was furrowed slightly, his lips pressed together tightly. He didn't look all that happy.

Varuna couldn't help but sigh as he lifted his chin up to look probably at Bryce. He knew exactly why Bryce was displeased.

"Bryce?" Varuna murmured.

Not slowing his pace, Bryce glanced down at him with an expression of relief on his face. "Everyone's ok," he immediately said. "That includes you and me."

Varuna sighed again and nodded his head. He was relieved.

He closed his eyes and rested for a moment. He couldn't help but strain his hearing, though, listening to the sounds of other footsteps. He could also hear voices. Familiar voices. Not too far from him.

The younger brothers of the group were leading the way, talking in whispers to one another. He heard Fletcher mumbling something along the lines of it hurting. Miach answered in his usually whispery voice. He said something about adrenaline making it bearable. He could also hear Blayden's voice with a tone of concern as he spoke to someone. Baldur, it seemed, Blayden telling him not to ask questions about what happened. Not now. Not yet. Baldur, however, seemed…intrigued.

Varuna clutched his forehead and released a low, almost inaudible groan as he rested completely into Bryce's arms. That was the second time he went on a full and deadly rampage. Others had assured him that they never felt threatened by him, and he believed them. He truly did.

But the little 'what ifs' still plagued him at night.

"I…fucking _hate_ this," he muttered as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Yeah," Bryce was heard mumbling as he tightened his grip on Varuna, cradling him even closer. "So do I."

Varuna just…he just wished that he knew more of what was happening to him so he could control it better. But that wasn't possible.

…Right?


	9. The Bond of Brothers

**Title:** The Bond of Brothers

 **Pairings:** Slight mention of Achyuta/Nitish

 **Prompt/Request:** Brotherly moment between Zesiro and Achyuta

 **Words:** 1,898

 **Warnings:** None

 **AN:** I'm afraid I have a touch of the flu at the moment, but I'll work on a requested Achyuta/Nitish fluff as soon as I can! Please be patient with me~

* * *

The night was chilly as Achyuta lowered himself to sit upon the top step leading to the Researchers' Clinic. Wearing only a t-shirt and a pair of pants, he knew that he should put on something warmer or evoke the protectiveness of Nitish and Isiah. But he felt feverish and the coolness of night felt wonderful against his flushed skin.

It was late at night, most of his guild asleep either at the clinic behind him or at the inn, being fussed over by the inn-keeper Dalla.

He should also be sleeping. Nitish and Isiah told him numerous times that he needed to rest. Being sick took a lot of energy. But there was only so much lounging around one could do before going stir-crazy. Imperials were never allowed to simply 'rest'. They had more important things to do.

He couldn't sleep, anyway. And lying in a bed, staring up at the ceiling wasn't at all enticing in any manner. Although resting with Nitish lying beside him he would gladly relish in, he felt a tickle in the back of his throat and he didn't want to risk waking up the beautiful runemaster as he had been busy watching over him the last few days. Nitish needed sleep, too.

Swallowing back the urge to clear his throat, which may lead to a cough, Achyuta tilted his head back and looked out over Tharsis. And at Yggdrasil shimmering brilliantly in the distance. Although it looked different from the mighty tree he grew up under, it was actually more beautiful in a sense.

Achyuta was pulled from his thoughts by something soft and warm falling over his shoulders.

"Idiot, are you trying to make yourself sicker?"

Startled, Achyuta lifted his head up to glance over his shoulder. He was surprised once again to see that Zesiro had somehow appear behind him. And had draped a thick coat over his shoulders.

"Oh, Zesiro? What are you doing out here?" Achyuta asked as he subconsciously tugged the coat tighter around his shoulders and watched as his twin descended the stairs in a hurried, but calm manner.

"Old habits die hard," Zesiro simply said and waved a dismissive hand in his direction, his eyes scanning their surroundings critically.

Ah, he was patrolling the perimeter around the clinic. He may even visit the inn afterwards to check up on those resting there. Of course, he wouldn't interact with any of them and he would play it off as being a coincidence that they were in the same area.

Habits weren't the only thing that was difficult to break. Personal characteristics were also tough to supress.

"You should head back inside," Zesiro said to him, his tone rather commanding.

"I just needed some fresh air," Achyuta said in response.

Zesiro didn't seem to care for his response. "Uh huh."

"I was also gazing at Yggdrasil," Achyuta continued as he turned his gaze to the horizon once more. "Different now, isn't it? From when we used to stay up late to gaze at Yggdrasil when we were kids." He released a small laugh. "Much bigger back then, too."

Even though there was some distance between them and the night light was dim, Achyuta could see that Zesiro was also looking wistfully at Yggdrasil. He remembered. He remembered how they would wait for when it was time to go to bed and after the routine patrols outside of the orphanage. When the coast was clear, they would both quietly scramble over to the chair underneath the window and gaze outside at the night sky and at Yggdrasil shimmering of in the not-so-far distance.

Leaning against the window sill, their chins in their hands, they would chatter about Yggdrasil. They didn't know of the severity of the Cloudy Stronghold back then. To them it was just their home, a place they would one day explore as Imperial Knights.

Achyuta remembered Zesiro telling him one night that he would one day become an Imperial Knight and he would make sure that Achyuta would do. If he didn't, then Zesiro wouldn't become one either.

A sense of sadness washed over Achyuta at that thought. His brother was so strong. He would become a great soldier. And Achyuta didn't want to hold him back, so tried his hardest to get better, to limit his days of sickness.

It was a few years later that Zesiro disappeared. No one said anything to him at the beginning, despite all of his inquiries. Dead, they told him suddenly one day. Met an unfortunate accident. Nothing could have been done. They gave Achyuta a pair of crackled glasses. Something to keep, to remember him by. But they were stolen sometime after, almost as if someone wanted to wipe Zesiro from memory.

To say that he was devastated at learning of his twin brother's sudden 'death' would be a severe understatement. He couldn't breathe. He cried. He wasn't able to cry in the open, so he had to sneak away. His lungs burned, his breathing unstable. He was a mess. No one understood. No one cared.

To think that Zesiro had been alive all that time. He was so _relieved_. But there was something else as well.

"Do you resent me?" Achyuta quietly asked as he pushed himself to his feet and faced his brother.

"Oh come on," Zesiro all but growled in put-on annoyance. "Where the hell did that question come from?"

Achyuta was unsuccessful at keeping the feeling of guilt from making him feel heavy in the chest. "…I didn't come looking for you," he said, pushing back the familiar tickle at the back of his throat, a forewarning of a coughing fit.

Zesiro snorted in a blasé way and folded his arms over his chest. "Jeez. You weren't meant to, dipshit. That would have put the two of us in the shit and what good would that do?"

Achyuta wanted to ask his brother what it was like for him during their years apart. Was it difficult living off the land? Was he constantly looking over his shoulder? How much danger did he constantly throw himself in while searching for information on the Heavenbringer?

He couldn't bring himself to ask anything, though. More likely than not, Zesiro wouldn't answer his direct questions anyway. Stubborn from the day he was born.

Keeping his gaze on his brother, Achyuta felt his eyes widen in realisation. Before the resurrection of the titan, before facing Prince Baldur in battle, they were needed to explorer new pathways of the four labyrinths. Although injured, Achyuta wanted to accompany them. That was when an Imperial in red armour…

"That was you, wasn't it?" Achyuta asked instead, his voice hoarse. "At Forgotten Capital, before the Sealed Door was opened. You gave me that driveblade to use."

Zesiro didn't look at him. His posture did stiffen though, and a small, almost sly smirk appeared on his lips. It appeared as though he wanted to say 'took you long enough' in a dramatically offended manner.

However, before Achyuta could say anything to his brother, his throat suddenly tightened and the urge to cough was stronger than ever. He couldn't hold it back any longer.

Lurching forward, Achyuta covered his mouth with his two hands to quiet the noise before he sat down on the steps abruptly. His lungs were starting to burn and his ribs hurt with each reverberation. It was…difficult to breath, gasping loudly between coughs.

He then felt the unfortunately familiar metallic tang in the back of his throat. He tried to swallow it back, but that only made the urge to cough louder and harder grow in strength. Something was touching his shoulder and he sworn he heard a voice telling him to take long, deep breathes. To calm down and push through it. But he wasn't sure. All that he could register was his painful coughs.

After a few long moments he pulled his hand away from his mouth, he wasn't surprised to find a few small specks of blood on his palm. Disappointed, but not at all surprised.

"What the hell?" Zesiro hissed.

Surprised, Achyuta snapped his head up and found his twin crouched next to him, his brow furrowed and a subtle, stubborn sense of concern in his eyes. His gaze, however, was on Achyuta's hand, snaring his wrist in a firm but not painful grip when Achyuta tried to curl his hand into a fist to hide the evidence.

"I thought your lungs were supposed to be getting better," Zesiro said in a rather accusatory tone as he pulled Achyuta's hand closer to get a better look.

"Hah, t-they're not as bad as they used to be," Achyuta insisted with a small, hopefully reassuring smile. He, however, was trembling slightly and his breathing was coming in short, ragged breathes. "Isiah s-seems to think that I picked something up from...that place."

"The Hall of Darkness?" Zesiro immediately queried.

Achyuta nodded his head and tugged back his hand, immediately curling his fingers into a fist to hide the smear of blood. "Yes, something on the numerous surfaces must have been disturbed by the fighting and I breathed some of it in," he murmured between breathes.

Zesiro's face creased into a scowl. "And that medic hasn't fixed it yet?"

"He doesn't know what is inside the Hall of Darkness," Achyuta pointed out, unable to stop a small smile from spreading across his lips as his breathing slowly began to settle. "So he can't make a proper cure without knowing the origin."

A noise of displeasure bubbled from Zesiro's throat. "He honestly doesn't have a clue?"

"He's been writing to a fellow medic in a town far north from here," Achyuta explained, hoping to calm his brother's protectiveness toward him. It had been some years since he had experienced it, but it still made him both happy and guilty to experience that protective fury once more.

"His penpal is a ten year veteran in the medical field," Achyuta continued. "And Isiah is confident that his reply will be returning in a day or two."

Despite his reassurances, Zesiro still didn't look at all happy.

He wasn't able to say anything though, as the door to the clinic abruptly opened and Nitish stood there in the threshold. His hair was slightly ruffled and he appeared as though he had just awoken. And behind him, looking as equally dishevelled but far more disgruntled was Isiah.

The moment Zesiro moved away from him, Nitish and Isiah began to fuss over him. Achyuta couldn't help but feel guilty that he had invoked their concern once more. They must have heard him during his coughing fit. He had tried to be as quiet as possible, too…

As Isiah and Nitish guided him back inside, Achyuta glanced over his shoulder at his brother, who of which was standing at the bottom of the stairs. His brow was furrowed and he seemed to have this…peculiar expression on his face. Determination?

"Please, don't go back there," Achyuta said to him, his voice soft almost desperate.

Zesiro didn't respond. All he did was lift his chin slightly, almost in a defiant way. And that made Achyuta fearful. If his brother was intent on venturing back to the Hall of Darkness, there was nothing he or anyone else could do to stop him.

He just…hoped he didn't go by himself.


	10. Safe In His Arms

**Title:** Safe In His Arms

 **Pairings:** Achyuta/Nitish

 **Prompt:** Achyuta/Nitish fluff – Tumblr Anon request

 **Words:** 1,272

 **AN:** Ah, I still have the flu, believe it or not. But not as bad as before. Hopefully this fluffy oneshot will help me get back into the swing of things. Oh, if you want to know what my main guild will be if/when EO5 comes out, check out my Tumblr. I may also do a character profile book on Wattpad. Anyway, hope you enjoy reading!

* * *

Nitish had to admit that he was not having a good day. The last few days and nights, actually. Achyuta had a chest infection and there wasn't much he could do for him other than watch and comfort him as he painfully cough up small specks of blood and gasp for air. Isiah was at his wit's end trying to figure out the root cause of the infection and was impatiently waiting for a response from his medic friend in a town far north from Tharsis.

Nitish hoped that Isiah's penpal would be able to help. Even a few suggestions would be so helpful. It was…so hard watching Achyuta suffer like he was. He tried not to show how much his illness was affecting him, but Nitish could see the weariness in his eyes.

Glancing over his shoulder to look over at his bed, Nitish released a small sigh of relief to see that Achyuta appeared to be sleeping peacefully for now. He was lying on his side, his arm folded underneath a pillow as he breathed softly and slowly. His hair was free from his usual ponytail, the long light strands sprawled out on the pillow. His glasses sat on the bedside table, haphazardly thrown there when he was persuaded into lying down for a while.

Taking his gaze from Achyuta, Nitish turned back to his work table where he was trying to mix new medicines for the Atelier. It was a simple job, something he was able to do easily now. And it was something to take his mind off his own weariness. However, today he was unable to concentrate fully.

Nitish winced when he felt a presence of something large, powerful, and utterly terrifying move close to Tharsis. He tensed, closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath to calm himself as he waited for the sensation to pass.

It was the Fire Dragon.

He trembled softly when the Fire Dragon strayed a little too close to Tharsis. He always did, but tried to hide it from the others as not to worry them. He also didn't want to concern them with the fact that he could sense the Fire Dragon from such a distance. He couldn't tell where exactly it was or what it was doing; he could just sense it.

Thankfully, even after all these years, the large red dragon of the Windy Plains had never approached or threatened Tharsis in any way. The devastation the Fire Dragon could cause would be tremendous.

He hoped that day would never come.

Nitish released a slow, shaky breath. He had to place down the glass bottles and curl his hands into fists, resting them lightly upon the work bench. His tremors were becoming more violent. He was afraid of holding anything breakable in case he either dropped it or cause it to break in his hands from the violent shaking.

The Fire Dragon's aura was intense. To put it lightly. So strong, primal, and menacing. It immediately threw him back ten years, to a time where he and Varuna were just children aboard an airship on a desperate mission.

The dark of night suddenly erupting into red hot flames. The thunderous roar of a legendary beast. The comforting words of a man that protected them. The breaking of wood and cries of fear and horror.

He…he hadn't spoken to anyone about what happened that night ten years ago. He didn't remember everything. He was so small and scared back then. But he remembered enough to haunt his dreams and cause him to become temporarily mute.

He would remember that horrible night each and every time the Fire Dragon appeared across the river that surrounded Tharsis. Nitish could stand the light sense of the dragon from far away, its presence barely notable at the vast distance of the Windy Plains. But whenever the Fire Dragon dared to move closer…

Nitish was pulled from his thoughts when a pair of arm wrapped around him tightly, one folding across his stomach as the other slipped across his chest, a powerful hand grasping at his shoulder. Immediately thankful for such strong arms that were instantly familiar, Nitish sighed as he was pulled back to rest against a taut chest.

"You should be resting," Nitish said as he turned and tilted his head back to look up at Achyuta, the other man looking pale and weary from his illness.

"You're trembling," Achyuta said to him instead, a small frown tugging his lips. "What's wrong?"

Despite the way he was softly shaking, Nitish couldn't stop a smile from appearing on his lips. He sighed, however, and leaned further into Achyuta's arms, unfurling his hands to desperately grasp at the arms that were holding him so tightly.

"The Fire Dragon is close," Nitish told Achyuta simply. "I can sense it."

Achyuta's arms immediately tightened around him as he made a noise of understanding and concern. He suddenly leaned down and lightly kissed his cheek. "Don't think about the Fire Dragon," he whispered into his ear. "Concentrate on my aura. Forget about everything else for now."

A look of surprised appeared on Nitish's face as he looked up at Achyuta once more. He had…never thought to try a form of meditation like that. A distraction? Could it work?

Turning around in Achyuta's arms, Nitish pressed himself against Achyuta's chest and rested fully alongside him. Ducking his head under his chin, Nitish closed his eyes as he concentrated on Achyuta's aura. Although the other man had been suffering from a chest infection, his aura and presence was still strong and comforting.

Strong. Committed. Intellectual. Diligent. Warm. Generous. Honourable.

Achyuta were all those things. And so much more.

Burying his face against Achyuta's chest, Nitish felt himself slowly begin to relax. He pushed aside the fear he felt with the Fire Dragon still so close, and instead focused on Achyuta's steady heartbeat. He timed his breathing with the beating of Achyuta's heart, meditating himself into a relaxed manner.

Achyuta's arm was around his waist, holding him closer as he gently combed his fingers of his other hand through Nitish's hair. Each movement was both stimulating and comforting. He could feel his fingers, coarse from years of wielding a driveblade, gently touch his scalp, ever so softly disentangling any knots or hitches as he moved along the full length of his hair.

The Fire Dragon was soon completely forgotten. All Nitish understood and felt was Achyuta's soothing aura, his fingers gently combing through his hair. And that his heartbeat was in rhythm with his own.

Nitish hadn't even realised they were moving until Achyuta abruptly sat down and pulled Nitish down with him, onto his lap. Although startled by the sudden movement, Nitish was soon wrapped up in Achyuta's strong arm once more, holding him against his chest.

"Let us both get some rest," Achyuta side as he leaned his back against the wall next to the bed.

Despite having work to do, Nitish found himself burying his face against Achyuta's shoulder before nodding his head in agreement. He felt so warm and comfortable, something he hadn't felt for a while. He couldn't move. Didn't want to move from Achyuta's arms. They were just so…everything he wanted.

"I'm so glad you're here," Nitish whispered softly as he closed his eyes.

"Meeting you is truly the best thing that has ever happened to me," Achyuta said to him, his voice soft and sincere, and kissed the top of his head. "I love you."

Nitish smiled as he curled his fingers around the material of Achyuta's shirt. "I love you, too."


	11. Four Makes a Family

**Title:** Four Makes A Family

 **Summary:** Isiah and his father spending time with the twins.

 **Prompt:** Anon Tumblr - "Are you still doing request? If so, how about a story of Isiah and his father before Isiah's father died?"

 **AN:** I know this request was about Isiah and his father, but I couldn't help but add the twins as well. And it's a little longer than I had intended. Hope you enjoy reading nonetheless!

* * *

Isiah was silently going through his examination papers when a soft knock at his bedroom door pulled him from his work. Lifting his head up, he immediately glanced over to find two slender and young boys standing hand in hand as they looked at him. One with white hair and red eyes, the other with blond hair and blue eyes, though the left eye was a duller shade than the other.

"Is something wrong?" Isiah immediately asked the twins.

"Ah, w-we're a little hungry," Varuna replied.

Isiah glanced up at the clock and winced. It was past lunchtime. No wonder the twins were hungry. He still hadn't been able to shake the habit of being completely absorbed in his work.

He wanted to ask how long the two had been hungry and why they hadn't gotten his attention earlier, but he stopped himself as he already knew the answer; they didn't want to be a bother.

"Let's get something to eat then," Isiah said as he pushed back his chair and stood up.

The twins followed Isiah down stairs to the kitchen where he immediately set about getting them and himself something to eat. As he was doing so, he couldn't help but allow his thoughts to wander.

It had been two years since his father suddenly brought the twins home late one night. The Fire Dragon had been seen raising hell just outside of town and there appeared to have been an incident of some kind. As the top medical researcher of Tharsis, it was no surprise that his father was called to assist if anyone was hurt.

No one expected to find two young kids wandering around the Old Forest Mine lost and hurt, one with a severe head injury, though still walking somehow, and the other with an injury to his left eyes, which was unfortunately unfixable.

First, the two kids stayed with them for their recovery mostly because they seemed attached to his father, he being the one to have found them and immediately offer them comfort. But after realising that there was nowhere else for them to go, no one they could turn to, they became a permanent resident to the ol' clinic. There was no discussion between Dad and himself about the decision. They didn't need one.

Fortunately, the Count and his wife were very supportive of their decision. They agreed that the kids had been through enough traumas already and deserve to be in a stable home. However, some official thought that the clinic that Isiah and his father owned was far from stable.

Fucking assholes.

Placing the plates of food in front of Varuna and Nitish, the twins waited for Isiah to sit down at the kitchen table as well with his own meal. Only then would they touch their own. They had odd little habits that Isiah hadn't witness anywhere else.

During the two years since their arrival, nothing more had been learnt about the two. Only their names. Though only Varuna could speak and he could only recall his name and the name of his brother. He remembered nothing else. Nitish either couldn't speak because of some psychological trauma, or because he didn't want to. Either way, he wasn't pushed into speaking.

Isiah felt a wry smile cross his lips as he thought about that one asshat that demanded that Nitish tell them what happened, only for the gentle blond to start crying and for his father to grab the asshole by his neck and try to suffocate him by shoving his face into the dirt with his foot on the back of his head.

He almost succeeded, too, but several guards had to interfere.

The twins were estimated to be nine when they first found them wandering alone and hurt, though sometimes they acted younger.

Isiah sometimes found himself wondering where they came from. No one had reported them missing and no one claimed to have known them. And the twins themselves acted as if their surroundings were completely unfamiliar to them. Not only that, but the littlest of things astonished them. Water from a tap. Food that was ripe and quickly prepared. The ability to open a window.

In one instance, Isiah stumbled across his father explaining to Varuna and Nitish what grass was and how it wasn't dangerous to them. And the twins looked amazed.

That…

That broke his heart. It really did. Dad's, too. How could kids not know what grass was and how could they be afraid of it? What had happened to these poor, sweet kids?

Isiah was pulled from his thoughts when the front door opened, revealing a tall man with messy grey hair, a medical bag slung over one shoulder as he holster a large silver mace on the other.

"I'm back."

Isiah nodded his head in greeting, watching as his father drop his bag and mace by the door and walk over to them. Usually, when Dad returned home from whatever appointment he had, he would either kick the front door open, announcing his returned, or slam it open and verbally announce his return. It depended on what mood he was in.

But as of the last two years, his old habits had to change drastically. Loud noises and sudden movements scared the twins, you see. So he had to do things a lot slower and quieter whenever the twins were around.

A few things had to change, really. It was no longer just the two of them doing their work, bitching about the absurdities of the Grand Mark's Court, and swearing their heads off whenever they were super pissed about said absurdities.

"Ah, w-welcome back," Varuna greeted as he turned around in his seat to look over at his father, his brother turning to look as well, offering a small, shy wave as a greeting.

"Hey, munchkins," Dad greeted with a wide smile when he reached the twins, patting the two on their heads before he leaned a little closer. "I've got some small flowers. Want to see?"

Immediately, Varuna and Nitish nod their heads eagerly. They both adored looking at and touching materials that were found around the Windy Plains.

Reaching into his coat, his father pulled out a small paper bag and he handed it to the twins. Varuna took it from him before he and Nitish scampered over to the seating area where there was a coffee table between two couches. Dad watched them with a look of fondness on his face before he pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table, looking rather proud.

"You looked accomplished," Isiah commented as he leaned back in his seat. "Good day at the clinic?"

"The usual," his father replied in a somewhat dismissive manner before unexpectedly raising his arm and moving it in a clubbing motion. "Clobbered some ass-ashtray with my mace. Still got those lightning sharp reflexes."

Isiah snorted to cover up a chuckle. "How rare."

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit."

"You don't say?"

"I also started the paperwork necessary for when you take over as head medical researcher," his father unexpectedly said.

Isiah felt himself bristle. He knew that his father had a heart murmur, no doubt brought on by stress, but he wasn't that sick. Not sick enough to be plotting his will and funeral. "For fu-fudge's sake, Dad. That's years away."

His father tutted him in a dismissive way. "Never underestimate the monotony of paperwork. It's tedious as shit-take mushrooms."

"What's a shitake mushroom?"

Wincing as if he just been caught swearing, Dad immediately turned to look to his side, his head dipping forward a little when he realised that Varuna, with his brother's hand in his, had silently made their way over to stand right beside him.

That was something else that Isiah found odd. Should kids be that stealthy?

"And Nitish wants to know what fudge is?" Varuna continued as he gazed up at his father with wide red eyes.

"Ah, they're both food, munchkins," his father immediately answered. "We don't have any at the moment, though. Say, Nitish? You've sorted out those small flowers nicely. How about we head out into the garden and pick some lavender for tea tonight?"

Nitish glanced over at the coffee table he and his brother was just at, looking at the small flowers he had arranged into specific groups before he turned back to his father and nodded his head softly.

"Ah, good," Isiah's father said as he smile widely. "And Varuna, you should help Isiah with his work sorting out the medicine bottles."

Varuna immediately looked over at Nitish and at the medicine bottles waiting to be washed in the kitchen sink before he also turned his attention back to the older man. "Kay."

His Dad reached out to pat Varuna on the head softly. "Good boy."

Letting go of Varuna's hand, Nitish then took his father's hand as they both wandered out into the back garden.

Isiah pushed himself up to his feet before grabbing the back of his chair and dragging it toward the kitchen sink. He then positioned it beside him as he turned his attention to the sink and the glass bottles. As he began to sort out the dirty bottles from the really, incredibly oh-my-god-what-the-fuck-happen-here dirty bottles, he felt a smile slip across his lips when Varuna dutifully knelt on the chair neck to him.

His smile widen as he looked through the window in the kitchen as his father interact with Nitish in the garden, lifting the boy up and allowing him to sit on his shoulder as he pointed out and explained the different types of plants and flowers they had. It was plain to anyone that he adored the living shit out of these kids. And Isiah had to admit that he did, too.

"I don't like that one," Varuna suddenly announced.

"Hm?" Isiah murmured as he turned his attention to the white-haired youth next to him, finding Varuna staring rather critically at a small glass bottle. Isiah blinked before reaching out to pick it up. "This one?"

Varuna continued to glare at the bottle through suspicious eyes. "It feels yucky and it smells bad," he insisted.

Isiah took a sniff of his own and frowned. He honestly couldn't smell a thing. "What does it smell like?" he asked.

Varuna wrinkled his nose as he thought for a moment. "I don't know," he said as he tilted his head to the side in confusion. "It makes my nose hurt."

Confused, Isiah brought the bottle to his nose once more and took a deep breath though his nose. Wait…there was a hint of something there. He couldn't tell what it was, but it was a slight scent that shouldn't be there. Not on a medicine bottle. Did someone accidently leave a poison jar with the medicine bottles?

Isiah didn't have time to muse about it as there was a sudden but incessant knocking at the front door. A frown tugged at his lips and he told Varuna that he'd be right back before he pushed away from the counter and made his way over to the door.

As he opened it, he made a sound of annoyance and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. Standing on the top step of the clinic was a portly man wearing clothing that a hobnob official from Grand Mark's Court wore.

"Yeah?" Isiah said simply.

"Hello young man," the man replied in a purely patronising way. "Is your father home?"

Isiah eye began to twitch. "I don't talk to strangers," he managed to utter before he promptly slammed the door in the guy's face, leaving him spluttering on the other side.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Isiah made his way slowly through the residence to the backyard. Though he was reluctant to interrupt his father spending time with Nitish, he also knew that the lard-ass at the front door won't leave without a fuss.

"Hey, Dad," Isiah called out, immediately gaining the man's attention. "There's an official looking guy here to see you."

An expression of passive disgust immediately appeared on his face. "Really now?" Dad uttered as he placed Nitish onto his feet, took his hand in his and pulled him back inside.

After ensuring that Nitish was sitting comfortably in the seating area, his father reluctantly made his way to the front door, of which there was still the sound incessant knocking.

"Yeah?" Dad said as he opened the door, completely ignoring the other man's indignant shrilling about being treated poorly. "What?"

"Your son just slammed the door in my face!"

Dad just shrugged. "Yeah? Lucky he didn't have his mace with him. What do you want?"

The official's nostrils flared as he breathed heavily, poorly trying to reign in his anger. His gaze unexpectedly shifted to look inside the clinic and his eyes narrowed. "So the kids are here," he muttered.

Dad immediately tensed with protectiveness. "What's it to you?"

The portly man snorted. "They were probably abandoned for a reason."

Before the asshole could continue, Dad abruptly grabbed him by the throat and lifted him up so that he had to stand on his toes. "Why don't we take this outside?" he asked with a dangerous smile on his lips as the official began to gagged and squirm from the tightness of his grip. "I don't want the kids to overhear us, yes?"

The man couldn't respond (other than a few choked words to be released or something) as Dad dragged the man through the front door with one hand around his throat as the other sought out his mace. He kicked the door shut behind him in a rather telling fashion.

Isiah quickly made his way over to the door, his hand on the handle as he pressed his ear to the door. It wasn't just because he was worried about his father (he had a heart condition, after all), but because he knew that Dad was utterly pissed off right now and could say some undeniably witty insults when he was this mad.

"Now, listen here you fucking asshole," his father hissed menacingly. "If you ever make some comment about these kids again I will shove this mace so far up your fucking ass that we'll see the silver glinting in the sunlight each time you open that fucking mouth of yours."

Isiah barely managed to hold back a snort of mirth. Classic insult. He'd have to remember that one.

"A-are they fighting?"

Turning away from the door, Isiah looked over at the couch to see Varuna and Nitish sitting there together quietly, books on either side of them.

"Just a disagreement," Isiah responded to Varuna's earlier question.

Varuna tilted his head to the side for a moment while Nitish looked uneasy, paling slightly. However, Varuna nodded his head as his hand sought out to grab Nitish's, most likely out of instinctive habit.

"Kay," Varuna said as he turned to his brother and began to quickly speak with him.

Isiah watched as Nitish seemed to relax slightly before the twins each picked up a book to read. He then turned his attention back to the front door and paused for a moment. Should he head out as well and put an end to the skirmish because they were upsetting the twins? Or should he let his father continue to release his pent-up hatred for overly arrogant and haughty officials who thought they were better than everyone else?

Hmm…maybe he could enter the fray and get in a couple of blows himself?

A soft, timid tug on the bottom of his coat abruptly pulled Isiah from his thoughts. He turned around to find Nitish standing behind him with an open book in his arms.

"Hm? What's wrong?" he immediately asked.

Nitish lifted the book he was holding a little higher as he pointed to a page.

"You want to know what a word means?" Isiah asked as he crouched down.

Nitish nodded his head shyly and silently.

Isiah felt a smile tug on his lips as he looked at the page. It was actually quite common for Nitish to silently 'ask' him or his father was a word meant. He loved reading books, after all. Although some books an eleven to twelve year old shouldn't necessarily be reading.

"Ok, let's see. Amnesia?" Isiah hesitated for a moment before sighing. "Amnesia is when someone loses some or all of their memories through a trauma of some kind."

Nitish hugged the book against his chest, his gaze turning to the floor. He suddenly lifted a hand and pointed in the direction of his twin, Varuna, who was sitting on a couch with a book of his own. He then looked back at Isiah with a wide-eyed look.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Isiah said as he gently patted the blond upon the head. "He doesn't remember what happened before he came here."

Nitish wrapped his arms around his book tightly and his bottom lips trembled softly. He gazed over at Varuna and Isiah feared that the young blond would start crying. However, he didn't. He drew in a deep breath and nodded his head slowly, appearing as if he accepted that his brother did not remember what had happened to them.

He then turned his attention back to Isiah and seemed to hesitate for a moment, looking up at him with her large blue eyes. Slowly, Nitish lifted his hand and made a slight motion, as if he wanted Isiah to kneel down and lean closer to him.

Holding back his surprise, Isiah lowered himself down to his knee in front of Nitish. He then turned his head to the side when Nitish unexpectedly cupped the side of his mouth, as if he wanted to whisper something to him.

Once again Isiah had to hide his surprise as not to discourage the skittish boy. Nitish hadn't said a word in the two years since he first appeared. Was he ready to speak to him now?

"Th-thank you," Nitish whispered softly before he abruptly scurried away from him, hugging the book tightly against his chest as he rushed over to Varuna.

Isiah stared after him in shock, barely registering what had just happened. Nitish spoke. He actually spoke to him. His voice, like the young blond himself, was unsure, soft, and timid. But his words spoke volumes.

And they strengthened Isiah's resolve. He didn't care what anyone else said. He would give his life for these kids.

His father, without a doubt, felt the same.


	12. You're Not Alone

**Title:** You're Not Alone

 **Summary:** Would Zesiro really go to the Hall of Darkness alone? Roxbury needed to find him. And fast!

 **Pairings:** Zesiro/Roxbury

 **Prompt:** Tumblr - ameliahvale - Zesiro/Roxbury - This world needs more of these two, something fluffy with Zesiro showing weakness to Roxbury, or something like that. Maybe to add onto the whole Achyuta sickness arc.

 **AN:** Ready to have your heart ripped out? :D Enjoy!

* * *

Roxbury couldn't help but feel a slight sense of annoyance as he took his prescribed medicine for his niggling aches and pains from his numerous injuries he had endured over the last few weeks. It wasn't the medicine that had him feeling slightly off-centre; it was the fact that he hadn't seen Zesiro all day. That was unusual as he had developed the habit of following him around just about everywhere, teasing him or pulling him into what could only be described scandalous embraces.

It just felt…odd not having Zesiro badger him like he usual did. He hoped nothing happened…

"Ah, Roxbury?" Achyuta's voice pulled Roxbury from his thoughts and he immediately turned to see Achyuta standing in the door way of his room. "Have you seen my brother?"

Roxbury couldn't help but frown slightly. "Actually, no, I haven't. Is there something wrong?"

Achyuta frowned as well, but his expression held a slight tinge of fear to it. "It's...my illness has been playing up lately and I had...made the mistake of telling my brother that Isiah could not discover the cause because he did not know what materials could be gathered from the Hall of Darkness."

Roxbury's heartrate suddenly spiked. "You don't think he would...go back to that place?" he asked, hopefully keeping the fear out of his voice.

At first, Achyuta simply looked at him before he chewed nervously on his bottom lip. "Despite outward appearances, Zesiro had always been protective of me."

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about," Roxbury quickly said around the knot of fear growing in his chest and he moved to step out of the room, but not before pausing and placing a comforting hand on Achyuta's shoulder. "I'll check on the wharf just in case, though. You should stay here in case he returns while I'm gone."

Idly rubbing at his chest, Achyuta nodded his head once before he placed a polite but forced smile on his lips. "As you said, it's probably nothing to worry about."

Roxbury gave Achyuta's shoulder a slight squeeze before moving toward the stairs. As he quickly descending the steps, he resisted the urge to bolt out of the clinic to get to the wharf as quickly as possible. Surely Zesiro wasn't crazy enough to go on his own. Was he? What if…what if he was feeling desperate?

As soon as he stepped outside, the door falling shut behind him, hiding him away from the curious gazes of his guildmates, Roxbury broke out into a run. He had to get to the wharf. Zesiro had to be there. He couldn't have…he couldn't have left already. No, Nitish would have said something to Achyuta at the very least, right?

Reaching the wharf in record time, Roxbury barely slowed in his pace as he searched around the anchored airships and crates of cargo and food stock. With each place he check and no sighting of Zesiro, Roxbury's stomach churned with fear.

He was about to call Zesiro by his name when he heard the sound of a familiar voice. Two of them, actually, and one belonged to the very man he had been looking for. Immediately, he headed in the direction of the voices.

When he laid eyes on Zesiro, the other man speaking with Kalan with a crate covered with pieces of paper and documents of some kind, Roxbury found himself breathing a sigh of relief. He wasn't wearing his cumbersome red armour. That meant he wasn't heading out. Imperials would wear their armour whenever they were heading to the lands of the Cloudy Stronghold.

He wasn't leaving. Well, not yet.

Roxbury was about to approach the two, to inauspiciously ask them what they were doing when he found himself stilling. As they stood on either side of the crate, it appeared as if Zesiro and Kalan were, well, staring each other down.

"What?" Zesiro said with his usual haughty tone. "Want to tag along like an adorable little puppy?"

Kalan snorted loudly as he idly swatted as a strand of his brown hair from his face. "While I am adorable, I'm no puppy. Of course I'm going to tag along. Someone needs to stop you from lapsing into that sacrificial martyr bullshit."

"No," Zesiro said firmly and abruptly, his lips immediately creasing into a frown. "You're not coming with me. You're staying here."

Kalan reeled his head back slightly, as if surprised by the harshness of Zesiro's voice. "The shit?" he muttered before he scowled at him. "Well, what about Achyuta? What about precious Roxy? How do you think he would he react to you disappearing?"

Roxbury couldn't help but wince slightly at what Kalan was inferring. He, however, was still somewhat relieved to hear him ask Zesiro about him, reminding him that whatever he did, someone was going to know. And, well, miss him.

Zesiro immediately tensed. "Low blow, ass-wipe," he hissed, as if through clenched teeth.

"What?" Kalan snapped in response before he suddenly furrowed his brow, seemingly just realising something. "Are you going there for him, too? What are you really searching for?"

Zesiro snorted slightly as he turned his gaze back down to the mounds of paperwork scattered across the crate they were using as a table. "I have reasons for the things that I do."

Kalan pressed his lips together in frustration. "Could you at least hold off until we hear back from that pen pal of Isiah's? He is reputed to be a miracle healer or something. Let's at the very least wait until we hear what he has to say."

"There is no 'we'," Zesiro reiterated sternly. "I said you're not coming with me."

"Well, I'm sure as hell not going to keep your little jaunt a secret, now am I?" Kalan retorted as he folded his arms across his chest. "Especially since Roxy had heard everything anyway."

Roxbury found himself wincing again when Zesiro snapped his head up to look at Kalan, only for the brown-haired runemaster to arch an eyebrow at him before he tilted his head in Roxbury's direction. Roxbury felt a little bit sheepish when Zesiro abruptly turned in his direction, their gazes inexplicably locking in spite of the distance between.

"You little bitch," Zesiro snarled as he turned back toward Kalan. "Why didn't you tell me he was there?"

Kalan, however, made a dramatic gesture with his hands, as in 'why should you be mad when you're the one keeping all the secrets' kind of way. And, honestly, he was right to look and feel indignant. Even if Kalan hadn't ousted him, Roxbury was seconds away from interrupting their conversation anyway.

Instead of answering Zesiro's demand, Kalan folded his arms into the sleeves of his robes and turned in Roxbury's direction as he walked away. "I'll leave you two alone for a bit," he said as he came to a stop next to Roxbury. "Hopefully you can talk some sense into him. You might be in for the long haul, though."

"Thank you, Kalan," Roxbury said in earnest, only to receive a dismiss wave of his hand.

He waited until Kalan was out of sight before he drew in a deep breath and turned back to Zesiro, finding the other man hastily looking through the scrolls and paperwork in front of him.

"Zesiro?" Roxbury questioned as he quietly made his way over to him, stopping a few feet away from him. "Zesiro, talk to me, please."

At first Zesiro said nothing. He wouldn't even lift his head up to look at him. Roxbury was about to plead with him again, asking him to tell him what was wrong so that he could help in some way when Zesiro interrupted the silence between.

"I overheard Isiah speaking with the Count about something," he admitted tersely.

Roxbury took a moment to let those words register in his mind. "About me?"

"Yeah," Zesiro said as he continued to shift through the papers in front of him. "You've wondered too, right? About how that wound in your side isn't healing like it should."

Roxbury's hand immediately flew up to rest against his side, where Neolani had stabbed him when he was her hostage. Where he still had medical patting and bandages taped just under his ribs. Where it still ached lowly whenever he breathed a little bit too deeply. The reason for that medication he had to take three times a day.

Roxbury swallowed thickly. "Are you…looking for the knife Neolani stabbed me with?"

Zesiro nodded his head sharply. "There must be something on it."

"I…can't let you go alone."

"I have to."

"Why?" Roxbury quickly asked, unable to keep a hint of his concern and fear from his voice. "Why must you do this alone? Zesiro, talk to me, please."

Zesiro spun around suddenly to face him, a furious and frustrated look on his face. "For twelve fucking years I had to stand in the shadows and watch as my brother struggled with his illness all by himself. Watching as Logre, the only other person who actually gave a shit about Achyuta, leave in order to fulfil his duty to the emperor. Watching as he dealt with the despair of my death. Watching as he put his life on the line for his runemaster. Watching as he faced off against the Heavenbringer. Watching as he came close to death so many times and not being able to do a fucking thing about it."

His breath hitching in his throat, Roxbury could only stare wide-eyed at Zesiro, not knowing what to say or what to do.

"I am not going to do that again," Zesiro continued, his voice growing louder with each statement. "I'm not waiting in the background for someone else to do the heavy work again when they shouldn't have to. You know what? I actually give a shit about a lot of people, ok? I won't stand by and watch as they suffer. Not again."

Zesiro's expression then creased into a look that could only be described as heart-breaking. "I _can't_ ," he whispered, more to himself than to Roxbury.

Roxbury felt…breathless. He had no idea that Zesiro felt that way, and yet…it made so, so much sense. Roxbury felt tears begin to blur his vision and his hand clutched at his chest, over his heart. God, all those years, watching from afar, not being able to do anything without risking so much more. The helplessness he must have felt, the uncertainty. How…how did he manage for so long? Roxbury wouldn't have been able to stand it.

Zesiro suddenly muttered something under his breath as he aggressively spun around to his maps and other documents, shoving them hastily into a knapsack. The way he was carelessly gathering up his belongings, it was as if he…was intent on leaving right now, at this very second.

A feeling of fear that Roxbury had never felt before suddenly washed over him and he moved forward abruptly, wrapping his arms around Zesiro from behind and pressing his cheek against his back. He tightened his arms around Zesiro, folding them over his torso when the blond-haired man tensed, no doubt surprised by Roxbury's actions.

"I'm still alive, Zesiro," Roxbury whispered as he closed his eyes and pressed his cheek further against Zesiro's powerful back. "Thanks to you. But you may not be if you go to the Hall of Darkness alone. Not that you would be alone for long, I guess. If you do go, I will follow you. And nothing you can say will stop me."

Zesiro said nothing in response, just stood ridged and still. Suddenly, he sighed and Roxbury felt his shoulders slump forward in defeat. "Fuck," Zesiro muttered as he leaned heavily against the wooden crate and shook his head.

Roxbury continued to hold him, more than willing to physically keep him away from his airship, away from that dreaded place. He would…he would literally do whatever it took to keep Zesiro in Tharsis where he was safe. Where they were safe.

"Please," Roxbury whispered as he nuzzled his cheek against Zesiro's back. "Don't go. There's so much you can do here. So many ways to help others. So much more than what is found at the Hall of Darkness. Promise me. Promise me you won't go."

Zesiro remained silent and Roxbury frantically searched his mind for what he should say, falling short of begging him not to go. But then Zesiro sighed loudly again and gently touched Roxbury's arms that were tightly folded across his torso. He didn't try to pry himself loose, though, he just placed his hand atop of Roxbury's.

"Fine," Zesiro murmured.

Roxbury snapped his eyes open, somewhat surprised. But he soon sighed with relief, the tension he hadn't realising he was holding in his body abruptly fading. He couldn't ask him if he was being sincere. He had to be, right? He didn't want…to think otherwise. He couldn't.

"Thank you."

Zesiro tighten his hand around Roxbury's before tugging at his arm, as if asking him to finally release his hold on him. Though disappointed, Roxbury loosen his grip and Zesiro stepped quickly out of his arms. However, he didn't go very far. He turned around to face him, the two of them now standing chest to chest, face to face.

Looking into his eyes, Roxbury could see that something he could not quite describe. Perhaps he was overwhelmed by how much Roxbury cared for him. Or maybe he was feeling a sense of guilt, torn about allowing himself to have someone care for him, as much as he cared for them.

Slowly, Roxbury reached up with his hand and gently touched the side of Zesiro's face. Zesiro placed his hand atop of Roxbury's and leaned his cheek into his palm. Placing his other hand against Zesiro's chest, Roxbury leaned forward slowly and pressed his lips against Zesiro's in a soft, yet still intimate kiss.

As Zesiro slipped his arms around Roxbury's waist, pulling him closer and tighter against him, Roxbury slid both his arms around his neck and tilted his head ever so slightly to the side. He felt tears pool along his lashes, but he ignored them as he focused his full attention on kissing Zesiro, silently telling him that if anything were to happen to him, if he suddenly disappeared…he wouldn't have been able to stand it. Not after what they've been through, not while they were still growing closer and closer every day.

After a slow, lingering caress Zesiro pulled back away from the kiss, but kept his arms secure around Roxbury's waist, keeping him as close to him as possible. They said nothing as they just looked at each other, an apology or two in their eyes.

Slowly, a smirk formed on Zesiro's lips. "Hm, hoping to distract me?" he questioned in a light teasing tone. "How naughty, beloved leader."

Roxbury blushed darkly at what he was insinuating. That was certainly not what he had in mind. However, he felt a sense of relief upon seeing that teasing smirk of his. So instead of spluttering a retort denouncing his suggestion, he interlocked his fingers behind Zesiro's neck and pulled his head toward his.

"If that's what it takes," he murmured with his lips barely an inch away from Zesiro's.

Zesiro's response was swift and immediate; he closed the distance between them, placing his mouth atop of Roxbury's, threading his hand through his hair in order to angle his head just right for him to kiss him as deeply and as passionately as he could. All Roxbury could do, all he wanted to do really, was fall deeply into Zesiro's embrace and forget about their worries and concerns.

And, well, while he was a fortress, someone who ensured the safety of others, it was Zesiro who made _him_ feel safe. As if no matter what they faced, how dark things might be, they'll be all right in the end.


	13. Simply Platonic

**Title:** Simply Platonic

 **Summary:** A normal breakfast with the Phaedron Guild.

 **Pairings:** Platonic

 **Prompt:** Tumblr, Anon – "Perhaps you could write a oneshot for one of your favorite platonic relationships from either CtS or ALE?"

 **AN:** I would have had this up a couple of days ago but the internet has been down due to maintenance the last few days. Yeah, no warning. Just a 'lol surprise fuckers!' kind of thing. Yeah. Almost went stir-crazy. Anyway, hope you enjoy reading~

* * *

"Good morning, Nitish."

Quietly closing the door to his room behind him, Nitish smiled as Mahalah made his way over to him, seemingly having just visited Roxbury's room at the clinic. "Good morning," he returned as he idly straightened his robes.

Mahalah smiled at him before he tilted his head to the side slightly to indicate toward his room. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, a relatively peaceful night last night," Nitish answered honestly, his smile taking on a sense of relief. "Achyuta only had one coughing fit."

"Ah, so an improvement then," Mahalah said with genuine relief before an expression of soft concern appeared on his face. "You still look tired, though. I could wrangle one of the others to help with breakfast while you get some rest."

But Nitish shook his head as he turned toward the stairs. "I'm all right. Making breakfast will be therapeutic for me."

Mahalah granted him an understanding smile as he moved to join Nitish's side, the two of them moving toward the stairs and ultimately to the kitchen to begin their morning rituals.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Nitish was not remotely surprised to find many of his guildmates (official and honorary) up and about, talking amongst themselves. They had paired off, essentially, either sitting in the sitting area upon the couches, or were standing up and facing each other, all of them carrying some kind of drink (be it coffee or tea) in their hands. The atmosphere was relaxed and comfortable.

Reaching the kitchen, Nitish was once again unsurprised to find that there were already several brewed coffee and tea pots littering the counters. The first thing anyone did, whoever was up and about first, would fill the coffee and tea pots with water before bringing them to the boil. It was literally the very first thing anyone would do. It was an unspoken rule amongst the guild.

And, as per usual, the coffee counter was ever popular.

Immediately beginning the task of getting breakfast ready, he and Mahalah usually the ones to do so – Mahalah all but kicking out anyone else because two in the kitchen was more than enough – Nitish found his attention drawn to the conversations and people around him.

As two certain redheads poured themselves some coffee they continued to converse with one another, talking animatedly and comfortably. Nitish wasn't sure what they were talking about. Probably about the wharf or airships, something the two both enjoyed.

"So, of course, I'm yelling instructions at them, right?" Ciaran said as he stirred his beverage with a spoon before letting it hit the side of his cup with a clang as he began to speak with his hand. "I could see the pilot as plain as day, right, yet they were making the motion that they couldn't hear me. I was getting fed up at this point, yer know. Not only were they this close to crashing into the wharf, they were also threatening other airships. So, of course, I end up yelling 'yer a useless dipshit!'."

Falkner's laugh was that of honest amusement as he took a hold of his own drink. "They heard that one!"

"Totally heard me then," Ciaran said as he stirred his coffee again before dropping the spoon into the sink. "Had a face like thunder, as Da always used to say. Damn rookies not listening to a word any one says."

"Ciaran, buddy," Falkner said as he looped his arm around Ciaran's neck and tugged him closer toward him. "You need to accept the fact that no one is going to be as amazing pilots as we are."

Ciaran rolled his eyes and smiled as the two moved away from the kitchen and the coffee pot. "Would it kill them to have a small ounce of talent, though?"

Again, Falkner was heard laughing as they continued their conversation. It was nice seeing Ciaran taking up the offer of hanging around the clinic more with them. He worked hard at the wharf, and though he wasn't working there alone anymore, it was still good to see him out and about more, interacting with others. After the sudden death of his father, he had unintentionally closed himself off by throwing himself into work, wanting to maintain his father's legacy.

As the two redheads walked away, another pair appeared from Isiah's office. Much like Ciaran and Falkner, Isiah and Logre were speaking with one another; Isiah with a terse look on his face while Logre looked amused. They must be talking about Mark's Grand Court, or specifically an official from said government building. Isiah always wore that irritated expression when he had just dealt with a council member.

"Yeah," Logre said as he and Isiah walked over to the coffee pot to pour a drink of their own. "You do wonder why these officials bother any more. The Count is always on your side."

"Trying to throw their weight around, probably," Isiah said as he gave an irritated wave of his hand. "Anyway, being ever diplomatic, I called him a flaring fuckwit and told him that he should throw himself in front of a bounding beast."

Logre let out a quick, amused laugh before he shook his head and idly scratched at the stubble on his jawline. "As you do in those situations."

"Do you know what he said to that?" Isiah asked and Logre shook his head. "He said 'I find that offensive'. Well, fuck me sideways. I couldn't imagine why. I was totally not trying to offend him."

Logre immediately laughed again and Nitish couldn't help but allow a small smile of amusement to make its way upon his lips. He glanced over at Mahalah, the dancer also smiling, he, too, having heard a portion of their conversation. Isiah certainly had a way with people who were genuinely bullying or arrogant. He literally held no fear.

Placing the cut up pieces of white apples into a bowl, Nitish picked it up and turned toward the kitchen table. His gaze immediately fell upon Baldur, who was sitting at the table with a book in his hands. And Varuna was leaning over his shoulder, one hand on the back of his chair while the other was pointing at something in the book Baldur was reading.

"No, look," Varuna said as he trailed his fingertip along the page. "The way we do it is that potion or tonic needs at least three ingredients. A base or carrier, a middle note, and an enhancer. The base makes up the bulk of the tonic; the middle takes up at least twenty-five percent; while the enhancer is used sparingly."

Baldur crinkled his nose in confusion. "What exactly is this 'enhancer'?"

"It's the most potent ingredient," Varuna explained before pausing for a moment to contemplate how he could elaborate. "Think of it this way; when you make a cup of coffee, the base ingredient is the boiling water. The middle is the coffee beans, and the enhancer is the milk or sugar. While it's not entirely necessary to have the milk or sugar, it helps with the enhancement of the coffee. It's the coffee beans that give you the energy kick, but it would be, well, disgusting to munch on the coffee beans alone, right? The milk or sugar gives it an extra flavour, enhancing it, but too much of it and it will start to interact poorly with the coffee beans. The three ingredients work together. You also need to take into consideration the ingredients used. Some materials could cancel each other out, resulting in what we call a contradiction."

While Baldur became silent to allow the information to sink in and make sense to him, Nitish quietly set the bowls of fruit upon the kitchen table. He wasn't going to butt in on their conversation; Varuna was more than capable of explaining the crafting process to the little prince. And Baldur must trust Varuna enough to ask him about it.

"I get that," Baldur said as he looked up at Varuna. "What I don't get is why go through so much trouble when there are materials, like cyanite, that is said to be beneficial for fevers or infections."

Varuna gave him a small smile. "Because when it comes to illnesses or injuries, there is usually more than one cause or ailment. Say you hit your thumb with a hammer. There's blunt force trauma, bleeding under the skin, swelling, possible bone fracture, possible damage to the nail bed, and the possibility of losing the thumbnail entirely. Your finger doesn't just spontaneously bleed for no reason. You need to cut the skin, so there's a trauma involved. And it takes more than strapping a cyanite crystal to your forehead when you have a fever. If it was, who needs healers and hospitals, right?"

A look of realisation appeared on Baldur's face and he nodded his head in acceptance. "You have a point. How do you know what works together and what doesn't?"

"Trial and error," Varuna said with a shrug.

"Who are the lab rats?"

"There are a lot of stupid people out there."

Baldur was genuinely amused. "Useful for something after all, I see," he said as he turned his attention back to his book.

Nitish smiled to himself as he made his way back to the kitchen. It was truly wonderful to see them both getting along.

"Morning, everyone," Roxbury greeted as he descended the stairs, Achyuta right behind him.

The two men received a chorus of greetings from the other occupants of the clinic as they headed toward the kitchen. As Roxbury approached Mahalah, nodding his head in Nitish's direction as he past, Achyuta immediately made his way over to Nitish. He slipped his hand around to the small of his back as he leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. Nitish closed his eyes briefly from the touch before smiling as Achyuta pulled back.

"Breakfast is almost ready," Nitish said to Achyuta. "Did you take your medicine when you got up?"

Achyuta smiled at him. "First thing I did."

"Un. Would you like some tea?"

"I'll get it. You're busy enough as is."

"Hm. Won't be too much longer."

Again, Achyuta smiled at him. "It's always worth the wait." He then turned toward the tea kettle on the other side of the kitchen, passing by Roxbury who was speaking with Mahalah, the dancer pointing a stern finger at him while Roxbury was a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

"You're kicking me out?" Roxbury asked. "I know my way around a kitchen."

"Not while I'm in it," Mahalah quickly retorted. "Nitish and I have everything under control. Any more bodies in here and we'll just start getting in each other's way. Now, shoo, get a cup of tea and sit in the sitting room."

"One day I'll kick you out of the kitchen."

"Highly doubt that. Now, off with you."

"Ok, ok. Honestly…"

Achyuta chuckled as he placed a hand on Roxbury's back. "I've been politely kicked out, too. Let's sulk together."

Roxbury laughed softly but nodded his head nonetheless as they both set about getting their morning cups of tea, making doubly sure not to get in the way of the two cooks in the kitchen. They began talking quietly as the moved on toward the sitting room, making a beeline for an empty couch. The one next to where Blayden and Fletcher were sitting together.

The two younger brothers of the guild, however, seemed to have fallen asleep again. Fletcher had his head on Blayden's shoulder, while Blayden had his elbow on the arm of the couch and his chin resting in his hand. It was actually quite remarkable how the two could fall asleep just about anywhere. A good trait for when one lived in a noisy environment. A bad one when one was out in the wilderness filled with monsters more than willing to eat anyone or anything in their way.

Well, it was something they could learn later. They were normally exploring with both Varuna and Bryce, after all. Those two would react immediately to any threat. And most likely take it out before the brothers even knew what was going on.

Seeing that Achyuta was comfortable sitting and speaking with Roxbury, Nitish turned back to preparing breakfast. And to his silent observations. One of the bonuses of making breakfast was the chance to watch as the members of his family and guild interacted with one another. Seeing the friendships and brotherly moments, watching as they laughed and chatted; it always brought him a sense of peace.

It was also nice to see those who don't normally interact with one another talking together.

For example, the two that was closest to the front door; Bryce and Kalan. The brown-haired landsknecht was idly rolling his shoulders and neck, the ritual of limbering up that he habitually did, while Kalan curled a strand of his own brown hair around his finger. The two were talking surprisingly comfortably. Nitish could not sense any annoyance or irritation from the two.

He wondered what it could be that the two found common ground on to speak so easily. Although, he was pretty sure that their conversation was blunt but sarcastic at the same time. Add in Isiah and it would definitely be a snark-fest.

Not too far from where Bryce and Kalan where was another surprising pair. Xander and Zesiro, thankfully free from their armour, stood face to face as they spoke. Xander said something and Zesiro abruptly shrugged in a rather dramatic fashion, his face creased into a somewhat irritated look before he folded his arms across his chest and said something in return to the other ex-imperial. However, instead of being perturbed by the gesture, Xander instead nodded his head as if in understanding before he held his chin in thought.

Nitish couldn't help but wonder what they could be talking about. Their days as imperial soldiers? Or maybe they were exchanging stories on their gradual reintegration into the Tharsis way of life?

In front of the bookcase close to where Xander and Zesiro were standing, Kirjonen and Miach appeared to be talking about the many different books that were located there. Unexpectedly, it appeared to be Miach who was doing most of the talking because every now and again Nitish could sense a spike of surprise from Kirjonen. He was no doubt startled by Miach's occasional bouts of insightfulness. Most people were.

Nitish was startled from his observations when Telem appeared and swiped a small plate of white apples from the table before heading for the backdoor. Oh, it wasn't that he had taken some food that startled him; it was the sight of Zoran clinging to his back, his skinny arms around his neck as he looked over his shoulder that was surprising. And the shadowy nightseeker seemed unbothered by the little vessel riding on his back.

Silently, Nitish watched Telem until he was out of sight before quickly turning his attention to the kitchen window and the view of the back garden. Biast and Durriken were already out there, Biast sitting upon the ground as Durriken remained on his feet, speaking with the purple-furred bushi while glancing around at the garden's many different plants and flowers.

They both turned, however, when Telem quickly approached them, Zoran still happily clinging to Telem's back. As Telem moved to stand in front of Durriken, he lifted up the plate of fruit he had essentially stolen toward the runemaster, who surprisingly took a half step back, an expression of discomfort on his face.

Seeing his reaction made Nitish abruptly remember that Isiah had told him that Durriken was afraid of food. Any food, no matter where it came from. He wouldn't tell him how or why he became so fearful, but he did say that Durriken would only eat the same food as Telem and only after watching him eat a piece first.

Nitish continued to watch as Telem pulled the plate back towards him and picked up a piece of his own. However, instead of taking a bite of his own, he lifted it up toward Zoran, allowing for him to take the piece of fruit and eat it without a moment of hesitation.

Upon seeing Zoran eagerly eat and enjoy the fruit he was given and realising that there were no negative after effects, Durriken glanced down at the plate before…hesitantly raising his hand and taking a piece with his thumb and forefinger. Though he still looked uneasy, he eventually brought the food to his mouth and took a bite. He then blushed slightly when Zoran had a motion with his arm, as if cheering him for taking a bite on his own.

Nitish couldn't help but smile at the sight.

"Is everything all right, Nitish?" Mahalah suddenly asked him, no doubt spurned on by the fact that Nitish was all but staring out the window.

"Hm? Oh, yes, everything is fine," Nitish quickly replied as he turned to face the man next to him. "It's just nice to see how well everyone gets along, isn't it?"

Mahalah looked at him for a moment before he smiled and nodded his head in understanding. "Hm. It really is."

They were almost done with preparing breakfast when there was a suddenly knock at the front door. Immediately, everyone fell silent as it had become unusual for anyone to simply knock politely at the door these days. Since he was the closest to the door, Bryce answered it, opening the door wide to reveal a Tharsis soldier. And he appeared to be carrying something.

Nitish felt an unexpected sense of anticipation grow in his chest as Bryce exchanged a few words with the guard before taking whatever it was that he was holding and closing the door quietly.

"Hey, Isiah," Bryce called out as he held up a large parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. "It's a package for you. It's from your penpal."


	14. The Letters Between Medics

**Title:** The Letters Between Medics

 **Summary:** A few short letters between Isiah and his penpal.

 **Prompt:** Anon, Tumblr – "DARK SIDE OF SHATTERED ROSE, SHOW US THE FORBIDDEN LETTERS OF CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN THE DEMON CLERIC AND THE MIRACLE CLERIC!"

 **AN:** I've been unfairly busy the last few days, but good lord, I laughed a full five minutes at this ask. So here are some of the letters between Isiah and his penpal, whose name is finally revealed! Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Isiah had first reached out to a hospital in a town called High Lagaard when he had learnt of the existence of the Yggdrasil Curse. With the town nestled at the base of a large Yggdrasil tree of their own, Isiah had (desperately, probably) hoped that this 'curse' was actually nothing more than symptom or ailment that were unique to all Yggdrasil Trees.

He had gotten into contact with the head doctor at the hospital, a man that went by the name Dr Stiles.

Unfortunately, while Lagaard had their fair share of curses and myths, they had never had anything close to symptoms of the Yggdrasil Curse. Good to know that the curse hadn't affected other areas. But equally unfortunate because it was a first anyone had heard of it, so Isiah was left fumbling around in the dark.

Their correspondences didn't end there, though. Dr Stiles offered an array of ideas, some Isiah had already thought of while others that appear somewhat dubious but actually seemed to work.

Isiah had actually learnt quite a bit writing to the hospital in Lagaard. It made him wish that Tharsis had a hospital and not a few clinics scattered around the city at the inns. At the hospital everything and everyone was on hand, ready to go for any crisis they may face. They worked together efficiently. The hospital in Lagaard was a place for healing and research.

It was really no surprise that the Lagaardian hospital was so renowned.

Isiah kept up his exchanges with Dr Stiles, but he couldn't help but notice that the other man kept referring to another medic in his notes. He wouldn't write their name, out of simple courtesy and confidentiality that all medics practiced. However, one day Dr Stiles recommended to Isiah that he contact a medic by the name of Lynus as he was a high level healer. Level 99 in Dr Stiles' opinion. And he was also a veteran of the labyrinth in Lagaard.

He had to admit that he was curious. Even more so when learned that Lynus had unwittingly earned the title Miracle Medic and he was only twenty years old. For him to gain so much skill and knowledge at such a young age, he would have had to have started healing when he was nine or ten. Younger, even.

It was soon after he had taken Baldur under his custody/medical attention that Isiah decided to write to this Lynus medic.

Lynus responded back relatively quickly, stating that he had heard about him from Dr Stiles, before he introduced himself and launched into possible theories as to why Baldur wasn't healing as quickly as he should.

As they continued communicating back and forth, Isiah began to get a handle on who this Lynus person was and where he stood as a medic. And he had to admit that he was surprised by how easy it was to connect with him through their letters.

Lynus' letters light but engaging, giving the presence of someone who had witnessed and experienced a lot in his time, but was mostly unaffected by it. He was knowledgeable, but kept his theories/diagnosis to the point. He even appeared to be quite the crafter. The best part, however, was that he also had a sense of humour, admitting that a majority of his breakthroughs were to the thanks of his teammates or other explorers getting themselves into trouble, in a way that only explorers could.

Isiah could definitely attest to that.

So, naturally, their letters progressed from speaking formally about medical records, patients' histories, and healing breakthroughs to bitching and complaining about the absurdities of their teammates' unwillingness to confess their love for each other and the blatant stupidity of rookie explorers these days.

They still wrote about their medical knowledge and research, something they both were passionate about, but they couldn't help but write to each other on a personal level. A true penpal, really.

... ... ... ... ...

Dear Lynus,

Is there such a thing as being too stupid? My latest patient, fuck if I can remember his name, came in with multiple bone fractures and lacerations. Origin was a monster attack. But not a foe. No, of course not. It was a grasseater. A single oversized grasshopper. Reason; he wasn't wearing armour. Any sort of armour. He was wearing clothes, thank the gods, so he wasn't wandering around completely naked. But why wasn't he wearing armour? Because he believed armour to be unnatural and an insult to his primal ancestors who did not have the 'luxury' of such components, thus he would he honouring their name if he conquered the labyrinth with nothing more than his wit and gumption.

How he's still alive after all this time is a miracle.

Isiah

... ... ... ... ...

Dear Isiah,

I think it's pretty clear how your patient is still alive; the work you and your brothers have put into medicine and healing facilities are paying off. But I must agree that some explorers should get their priorities straight as my guild and I are growing weary of rescuing them. Just the other day we had to 'rescue' an explorer who had gotten their tongue stuck to a frozen pillar in the icy Frozen Woods of the third stratum. Let's just say; the frozen pillar unwittingly gained a souvenir or two.

There also appears to be a spate of would-be explorers entering the labyrinth at younger and younger ages. Why the guildmaster is allowing for 12 year-olds to enter Yggdrasil is beyond me. Perhaps it's just my 'maternal' side, as my guildmates like to joke, but I do not believe 12 year-olds have the mental or emotional maturity to deal with the life and death situations of the labyrinth. Most are extremely lucky to make it past the first floor without injury.

Lynus

... ... ... ... ...

Dear Lynus,

I know exactly what you mean. The average age of new explorers these days appears to be 13 to 14 years old. And in various stages of underdress, too. Fortunately, I don't have to deal with these idiots on regular bases unless they are in serious condition and I need to operate, which is not done without some serious bitching at them. I literally have no time or patience to deal with them. Besides, it's my guildmates and honorary members of said guild who are drawing most of my attention these days.

Isiah

... ... ... ... ...

Dear Isiah,

Every medic takes the oath of treating all those in healing equally. A medic's heart, however, will always prioritize the wellbeing of their loved ones above all others. That is something that cannot and will not be changed, so there is no point in denying it, is there?

Lynus

... ... ... ... ...

Dear Lynus,

That's very true. Mind if I ask about your guildmates? My guild's name is Phaedron and we work mostly for the Highland Count of Tharsis, investigating the labyrinths and researching materials found within. We vary from ages 15 to 27, and in various stages of relationships, much to my chagrin.

Isiah

... ... ... ... ...

Dear Isiah,

Of course! I love talking about my guildmates, who I see as my family more than anything. My guild's name is Guardians. We work mostly with the hospital, but we also work closely with the Grand Duchy, and the Duke and his daughter. We specialise in search and rescue, within the labyrinth and within the city of Lagaard.

I couldn't help but laugh when you wrote 'various stages of relationships', for my guild went through that phase about a year ago. If I can assume anything, there are refusals of any kind of romantic entanglements, unwillingness to 'hold' the other back, fear of unintentionally hurting the other, or down right obliviousness of one half of the pairing?

Thankfully we've moved past that now and everyone is in happy and steady relationships of their own. However, getting to this point wasn't exactly easy, so I can sympathize with you immensely.

Lynus

... ... ... ... ...

Dear Lynus,

Got it four out of four. And more. Thankfully, there are two relationships that are healthy and steady (if one of them are too fucking cute most of the time), but the others are starting to do my head in. The glances of longing, the blushing when their hands accidentally touch, the stuttering; fucking hell, I am this close to stranded them in various locations around the Windy Plains in hopes they'll get their acts together.

And don't think that I won't.

At least I'm not alone in my despair and annoyance. I have two snark-mates to bitch with. One who is diplomatic, the other delightfully bitchy. Commentating on the sidelines does make the days past quicker.

Isiah

... ... ... ... ...

Dear Isiah,

It's somewhat embarrassing to admit, but I can somewhat attest to the overly cute pairing – I'm in one! Axel is my husband's name and we're been voted both Lagaard's Favourite Couple and The Cutest Couple In Lagaard! And I honestly thought the nickname Miracle Medic was bad…

Looks like you might have to employ some matchmaking into your guild. It worked for ours. Sort of. In a way, at least…?

Lynus

... ... ... ... ...

Dear Lynus,

Ah, I didn't know you were married. How long have you been together now? To be honest, the Count has been asking me when my two brothers are finally getting married. I'm afraid to answer as he'll likely put on one hell of a wedding celebration. My brothers definitely won't be able to handle it.

Miracle Medic, huh? Ironic since someone just called me, well shrieked it, really, the Demon Medic.

Honestly, with this lot, matchmaking is likely to go over their heads and make things worse. I don't think I can handle that.

Isiah

... ... ... ... ...

Dear Isiah,

Axel and I have been (officially) married two years now. We were childhood friends before we were forced apart rather cruelly. We found each other again in Lagaard 8 years later and have been together ever since. I feel incredibly blessed to have such an amazing man in my life. But I also understand your trepidation. Let's just say, our wedding was completely out of our hands and it wasn't a private affair, either.

Demon Medic? That's a bit harsh, don't you think? I'm sure it's completely untrue.

To be honest, the matchmaking attempts designed by Lagaard's resident Matchmaker Extraordinaire didn't always work. It was more the fear of being forced into one of these matchmaking schemes that prompted the pairings to confess their feelings for one another. You can't be match-made if you're already in a relationship.

Lynus

... ... ... ... ...

As he learned more about Lynus' guild and how they resembled his own in so many ways, it made Isiah feel more at ease with their letters. And, honestly, some of his patient accounts were downright hilarious.

Nothing was off limits now and Lynus understood things he had encountered in the labyrinths far better than anyone else could because he had also been there. He had been on the front line. Seen the dangers. Experienced them. Endured the aftermath. He understood the uncertainty, the unknown. Knew that healing went beyond that of patching up a wound.

It was good to know that he wasn't alone in his frustrations or concerns.

Isiah had always been a rather prideful person. Self-efficient, really. He had to be when he was looking after two traumatised and vulnerable brothers. He found it hard to ask for help from anyone. It was him, the medic in charge, who others turned to for help and advice. And he was happy with that. He could handle it.

Until…

Throwing a blood soaked cloth into a bin in the corner of his office; Isiah pulled out the chair to his desk and sat down quickly as he reached for a blank piece of paper. His pencil scraped against the paper loudly as he anxiously wrote.

 _Dear Lynus,_

 _I need to ask a favour of you. No, I need your help. My brother's partner is growing sicker by the day and I can't find the cause why. I'll attach a list of symptoms to this letter in hopes you'll find something I've missed. I'm at my wit's end here._

 _I need to do something for him. My brother…I don't think he would recover if anything should happen to his partner now. After what they've both been through._

 _Please, anything you can offer will be a great help._

 _Isiah_


	15. Guardian of Hope

**Title:** Guardian of Hope

 **Summary:** Isiah's penpal was their last hope. Will he pull through for them?

 **AN:** This is actually nothing more than some self-indulgence :3 Hope you enjoy reading none the less~

* * *

Nitish sat on the couch next to Achyuta, his hand grasping his tightly. He was too anxious to eat breakfast he and Mahalah had prepared. All he could bring himself to do was to hold Achyuta's hand tightly as he shifted his gaze back and forth from the door leading into Isiah's office and to his guildmates.

A hushed silence had fallen over the guild when Bryce announced that Isiah had received a package from his penpal. As soon as those words left his lips, Isiah haphazardly dropped his tea onto the kitchen counter, crossed the room to where Bryce was, and took the parcel from him. He spent a quick moment to study the parcel before he hefted it under his arm and headed to his office.

Nitish had immediately wanted to follow, anxious to know anything and everything Isiah's penpal could offer them. But he held himself back. Isiah needed time to read the accompanying letter and Nitish didn't want to hover of his shoulder and place more stress on him. Isiah had been greatly distressed himself about his inability to diagnose Achyuta's illness.

He couldn't help but notice, however, that the parcel seemed bigger than any of the previous Isiah had been sent. Could that mean...there was possible medicine inside?

Nitish was pulled from his musings when he felt Achyuta kiss his temple. "It'll be all right," he said softly to him.

He really hoped so. He just...He just wanted Achyuta to be better, to not suffer anymore.

Tearing his eyes away from the door leading into Isiah's office, Nitish leaned against Achyuta as he glanced around the room. The others of their guild had returned to talking amongst themselves and finishing up their breakfast. But even so, Nitish could sense their anxiety and anticipation as well. Everyone knew of Isiah's desperate attempt to reach out to his penpal in hopes of brainstorming on Achyuta's ailing health.

There was also a sense of curiosity amongst many of them. They couldn't help but wonder who Isiah's penpal was. Isiah referred to him as a good kid, something he did toward those who were younger than him. But Isiah was only twenty-seven years old himself. And the head medical researcher of Tharsis.

Everyone couldn't help but wonder what kind of healer Isiah's penpal was to have a top medical researcher like Isiah ask him for help.

The sound of a door opening immediately pulled Nitish from his thoughts and he snapped his head up to look toward Isiah's office. His eyes locked with those of Isiah, who beckoned him inside. Pushing aside a sense of nervousness, Nitish squeezed Achyuta's hand before he pushed himself to his feet and made his way over to Isiah and his office. He stepped inside the room, the door softly falling shut behind him.

"Can he help?" Nitish immediately and anxiously asked.

Thankfully, Isiah gave him a small smile. "He seems to think that the theory of something from the Hall of Darkness invading his lungs is sound. A spore of some kind had been disturbed from all the chaos that happened inside and lodged itself in his lungs. The others are likely to have suffered the same thing, but because Achyuta's lungs were weaker than the others, he was more susceptible to infection."

Nitish nodded his head slowly as he clasped his hands together tightly in front of him. "Is there a cure?"

"There is."

Nitish felt breathless with relief. He had hoped and prayed for what felt like years now. To hear that so bluntly, so resolutely…

He must have looked it as lightheaded as he felt as Isiah reached out to take him by the arm and led him over to a chair before gently nudging him to take a seat. He then crouched down in front of him.

"It's not an instant cure," he went on to add with a sense of caution. "It'll take several days, and it may feel as though he is getting worst, but once we get over that hurtle, he'll be home free."

Tears of relief prickled at Nitish's eyes but he blinked them back to nod his head in understanding once more. "W-what do we need to do?"

"As he said, we're going to have to hit this hard and fast to ensure a swift recovery," Isiah said as he pushed himself to his feet, moved his desk and sat down to shuffle though a wad of papers. "First, we'll need to strengthen his lungs and weaken the infection of this spore. We can do that through steam inhalation. Also, a powerful tonic that is a mixture of Serpentine, Emerald, and Fluorite for him to drink every three hours for the next two days, before pulling back to every six hours."

A slight frown tugged at Nitish's lips. "We do not have any Fluorite stones here."

"No, but they do," Isiah responded quickly as he tilted his head toward the open parcel.

Startled, Nitish turned to look at the parcel that was right next to him and he peered inside. Amongst a few sachets of dried herbs and soundly wrapped glass bottles was a box with several different coloured stones nestled inside, each with a small nametag.

They were gemstones. Crystals.

And they were subtly powerful.

Nitish mildly wondered by he hadn't sensed the stones' presence before. With so many together, carefully arranged, he should have sensed them from across the room. Maybe even further. But he soon concluded that his fear and anxiety had once again subdued his psychic abilities. How could he focus on another's aura when he was too busy fretting about the well-being (and, well, life) of his soul mate?

But now that Isiah had calmed him down with reassurances, he was able to sense the stones' abilities. And he could tell that the gemstones had been gathered meticulously and had been carefully cared for.

"These are-?" he murmured.

"From their labyrinth, yes," Isiah lightly interrupted. "There are thirteen stones in total. Four of them are specifically for Achyuta, but he wanted us to have samples of the others stones for later in Achyuta's recovery. And for…in case anything else should arise with the other members of our guild."

That was…so thoughtful of him.

"He even added the benefits of these stones," Isiah said as he flipped through the papers in his hands and pulled out a few sheets before he presented them toward Nitish. "Have a look."

As Nitish reached out to take the notes from Isiah, a strange tingling sensation went up his spine and he felt slightly breathless. It was a…odd feeling, though not at all uncomfortable.

He could…feel the author's residual energy on these pieces of paper. A quick visualisation appeared in his mind's eye of someone who had long orange hair and kind violet eyes. He could sense their aura, their spirit. And…it was so powerful, yet so benign. Ethereal, even. So kind and compassionate. He had…never felt anything like it before.

It truly was so powerful. It should be intimidating. The ethereal energy. But…it wasn't.

"Hm?" Isiah cleared his throat, no doubt wondering why Nitish was simply staring at the papers in his hands.

"No, it's just…" Nitish whispered before a small smile made his way onto his lips and he pressed the notes against his chest. "I can sense the author. He feels so kind."

"…You should communicate with him, too," Isiah suddenly stated. "I'm sure the two of you will get along well."

Nitish pulled the notes away to look at Isiah for a moment and chewed slightly on his bottom lip. Writing to Isiah's penpal felt as though he was intruding some way. Yet, he also wondered who this medic was. The one who gained the reputation of Miracle Medic. He knew of him through the medical documents he had shared with Isiah, who in turned shared with him, but who was he on a personal level? He was part of a guild, so what were his guildmates like? Were they like a big family, too?

And, well…after all of this, the diagnosis, the medicine, the gemstones; how do you thank someone you have never met for potentially saving the life of someone he loved so much?

…He had to try, right?

"W-what his name?" Nitish suddenly asked, remembering that Isiah only ever fondly referred to him as Kid. "You never told us."

Isiah frowned slightly. "I didn't? Oh, well, he's name is Lynus."

"Lynus?" Nitish repeated, the name itself somehow resonating with a sense of peace, and he smiled and nodded his head. "Yes. Once we start Achyuta on his recovery, I wish to send Lynus a thank you letter."

And maybe they could somehow return the favour by sending him some samples of what could be gathered within their many labyrinths.


	16. To the Relief of Many

**Title:** To the Relief of Many

 **Summary:** Achyuta wasn't the only one who benefitted from that parcel sent by Isiah's penpal.

 **AN:** This totally isn't an excuse for me to fawn over my favourite medic. W-what are you talking about? Heh. *sweats nervously*

* * *

Roxbury sat on the couch in the sitting room of the clinic, his gaze focused on the door leading to Isiah's office. Currently inside was Achyuta for a check-up of his health. Nitish, of course, was also inside.

Four days had passed since that package from Isiah's penpal arrived. He did not know the full contents of what was inside that package nor what was written in the thick wad of letters, but he did know that Isiah was intensely relieved by the parcel's arrival. And so was Nitish.

Achyuta's health had deteriorated greatly over the last few weeks. So much so that Isiah desperately reached out to his penpal for help. From what he understood from Varuna, Nitish, and even Logre; he had never done that before. He had never reached out for help to someone. He was the one who was supposed to do the helping. The one who could fix everything. And he had done so for so many years.

So…for him to ask for help was quite telling about Achyuta's health, wasn't it?

Thankfully, though, whoever was Isiah's penpal understood his desperation and need. Isiah wasn't at all put off by the fact that he had shown 'weakness' by asking for help from them. Wasn't all that frustrated with himself from not figuring it out on his own.

Whoever that medic was; they had the ability to put anyone at ease.

They were also incredible at making a diagnosis and how to create an efficient treatment plan. Though it didn't really seem that way at the beginning.

The first night of Achyuta's new treatment was painful for everyone to overhear. They didn't visibly witness anything as Isiah and Nitish had Achyuta pretty much locked up in the patient room during that time. Several coughing fits were heard, though, and they made many of them wonder if that medic was a quack for making Achyuta even worse. However, Isiah assured them that it was going exactly to plan. That Achyuta needed to cough up whatever was affecting his lungs before they could administer the next phase of his treatment.

Everyone was protectively sceptical, yet on the second night there was a vast improvement. The coughs were chest-rattling, seemingly bone breaking as the first. But that night they were not as frequent nor excoriating to overhear. And the next morning, he actually had a bit of colour back to his cheeks.

That day marked the beginning of phase two of his treatment. And since then Achyuta's health had only improved. The coughing fits turned into minor annoyances and he was even fit enough to do a few chores around the clinic. With Nitish hovering, of course.

Honestly, his transformation was astounding. They were all surprised by how quickly Achyuta recovered in those four days. Probably none more than Achyuta himself. He was more relieved than anything else, though, as were a lot of other people.

Zesiro especially. He, of course, refused to outright say anything, but Roxbury could see the relief plainly in his eyes whenever his gaze flickered over to Achyuta. Could see the way his shoulders tensed and then relax after each time Achyuta coughed. Watching as his lips would press themselves into a thin line, his expression subtly protective as Nitish and Isiah fussed over Achyuta's medication.

His protectiveness…it was endearing, Roxbury had to admit.

It wasn't just Achyuta who had benefitted from the parcel sent from far north. Roxbury himself had been on the receiving end of a new treatment. The wound in his side, the one that was taking a little too long to heal was starting to do just that; heal.

That was such an intense relief to Roxbury. Not so much the thought that he could finally get back to exploration, but because Zesiro had absolutely no reason to risk his life looking for that knife in that terrible place. No reason for him, for anyone, to go back to the Hall of Darkness.

That was honestly more important to Roxbury than his own health.

The sound of a door opening pulled Roxbury from his thoughts and he turned his gaze toward the door of Isiah's office. He felt a small smile slip across his lips as both Achyuta and Nitish step through the door, the both of them looking relieved.

"Good news, I take it?" Roxbury asked as he sat up straight in his seat.

"The dark spot on my lungs has shrunk considerably," Achyuta told him eagerly with a smile as Nitish cuddled against his side. "In a few more days it should be gone completely."

"That's a relief," Roxbury said simply as there wasn't much else to really say. A bit of an understatement, true, but there was literally nothing more that could be said.

"It…really is," Achyuta said as he wrapped an arm tightly around Nitish, holding him close to his side as possible.

Nitish rested himself comfortably against Achyuta's chest as he turned his attention toward Roxbury. "Isiah wishes to see you next," he said with a small smile.

Roxbury had suspected that. "Yes, of course," he replied as he pushed himself to his feet.

He received another set of smiles from the loving pair before they turned their attention back to each other as they made their way back upstairs. Roxbury watched them as they left, pleased to see the two of them looking content and happy once more. Something neither of them had been for the last few weeks due to Achyuta's illness.

The timing of the parcel was a huge relief for Nitish as well.

Turning his attention back to the task at hand, Roxbury made his way toward Isiah's office, giving a light tap at the door that was slightly ajar before he pushed it open.

"Ah, good," Isiah said when he saw it was him. "I was just about to come get you. Let's have a look at your side."

Politely obedient, Roxbury kicked the door shut behind him as he stepped further into the room. He paused before Isiah's desk, where the silver-haired medic had numerous glass bottles and bandages scattered about, and grabbed the hem of his shirt. He lifted it enough for Isiah to look at his side, the medic doing so promptly, peeling back the thick bandage slowly.

"Finally," he heard Isiah mumble after a couple of silent minutes as he pulled back the bandage completely, taking it off entirely. "We'll leave this off to let some air at it now."

No longer having that thick bandage plastered against his side was incredibly liberating. He could breathe a little deeper now and not have the restrictions. The tugging and pulling of the tape, the itchiness of the gauze. Thank goodness he didn't have to deal with that anymore!

Isiah tossed the bandage into the bin near his desk, he too subtly relieved that it had been removed before he searched around on his desk for a moment. "We'll keep up that anti-biotics for a few more days, and then I can ween you off them, too."

"That's good to hear," Roxbury said in earnest as he tugged down his shirt, carefully pulling it over his side.

He glanced over at Isiah's desk as the other man scribbled something on a piece of paper, no doubt his findings to be added to Roxbury's medical file. He had one for everyone, after all. But Roxbury's gaze fell upon a piece of paper that seemed different from Isiah's usual handwriting. It must be one of the many letters he had received from his penpal.

Despite not wanting to be nosy, Roxbury found his gaze skimming across the letter. What caught his attention the most, however, was the very bottom of the paper. Where he could see that the writing was neat and précised, as if meant to emphasise an important fact.

 _Don't be hard on yourself. I understand what you're going through. Your guild is your family. No one matters more. You would do anything for them. And you have. With you watching over them, your guild, your family, could not be in safer hands._

 _Take care of yourself, too._

 _Always, Lynus_

…Lynus? That was his name?

The words were…gentle, but potent. The way the words were scrawled across the paper gave the indication that he didn't write that on a whim. He didn't just add it in to seem humble or superior. He wanted Isiah to know that it was true, wanted him to know that he had done everything possible. And that he was doing the right thing. No shame. No guilt.

Just…understanding and compassion.

No wonder Isiah got along well with his penpal.

"You're free to go," Isiah said as he looked up from his desk. "But tell that idiot to keep his hands to himself for a while."

Roxbury immediately felt a blush race across his cheeks. He didn't need to ask who Isiah was referring to and he really couldn't deny that anything of the sort had happened in the past. There was really no point.

Still…it was nice to see that Isiah hadn't outright banned Zesiro from the clinic.

"I'll…try to keep him in line," Roxbury muttered around the blush before he turned on his heel and made a beeline for the door, hastily stepping through of it before closing it behind him.

He didn't know how long he'd be able to keep that promise, though, as Zesiro seemed to have been waiting for him. Oh, sure, he looked as though he just casually entered the sitting area, lounging about lazily in one of the chairs as the other members of his guild flittered about around him. But Roxbury knew he was waiting to see what Isiah had wanted with him.

Wanted to know how the wound in his side was faring.

How could he tell? Well, Zesiro's gaze immediately caught his the moment he stepped out of Isiah's office.

Without uttering a word, Roxbury tilted his head slightly, indicating to the stairs before he moved toward them. He didn't need to look behind him to know that Zesiro had quickly, but inauspiciously, stood up from his seat and moved to follow Roxbury up the stairs.

And as soon as he stepped into his room, Roxbury felt a hand gently rest against his side and he couldn't help but smile. Zesiro was gently touching his side that had caused Roxbury endless trouble. The one that had been stabbed by Neolani all that time ago.

Roxbury glanced up at him and smile when he saw the worry in his gaze. "It's almost completely healed," he said softly as he placed his hand atop of Zesiro's that was against his side, pressing his hand a little firmer against his side to prove to him that the bandages had been removed.

Zesiro's face remained passive, but he curled both arms around Roxbury's waist and, somewhat unexpectedly, pulled him against his chest, holding him as tightly as possible without hurting him.

Roxbury was momentarily surprised, stilling when he felt Zesiro thread his fingers through his hair as he pressed his face against the side of Roxbury's neck. But he soon returned the embrace, slipping his hands along Zesiro's strong arms and wrapped his own arms around his neck.

He sighed as he closed his eyes, relishing in the feel of Zesiro's arms around him. He needed to send Isiah's penpal a thank you note for if his parcel hadn't arrived when it did…Zesiro could have done something reckless. Something that could have cost him his life. Something Roxbury would never have forgiven himself for.

Isiah's penpal, Lynus, had essentially saved Zesiro's life, too.


	17. Vulnerable Whispers

**Title:** Vulnerable Whispers

 **Summary:** Kalan wasn't as deadpan and snarky as he portrayed himself to be. Isiah knew of his vulnerable side better than anyone.

 **Pairings:** Isiah/Kalan (you read right~)

 **AN:** If you're wondering about Mahalah and Durriken, please do~ I have plans for new love interests for those two. That will come later, though. For now bask in the fluff of this new pairing of mine. Let me know what you think~!

* * *

Isiah awoke in the late hours of the night to find himself crouched over his desk, using his arms as a pillow. And there was something draped over his shoulders. He didn't stir to find out what it was; he already knew. To have fallen asleep at his desk was a common occurrence the last few days. And the feel of someone draping a thin blanket of him was also a recent event.

He rolled his head to the side, to look out the door of his office. From where he was currently, he couldn't see who was tinkering about in the kitchen, but he was fairly certain he knew who it was.

It was Kalan.

For the past five nights now, Isiah had fallen asleep at his desk. First it had been completely accidental. He got too caught up in his work, in researching information and items he had received from Lynus, his penpal from High Lagaard. He had awoken a few hours later to find a blanket draped over his shoulders and the light out. At first he had assumed it was Nitish or Varuna, if the nightseeker was home that was. But as he quietly left his office to look around when he heard noises he was somewhat startled (yet not so much) to see that Kalan was still wandering around.

When he approached the runemaster about the blanket, Kalan dismissed his question completely, instead telling him that it made sense that he stayed up late to wander around as he didn't need lights to see where he was going anyway.

That made sense in a way, so Isiah simply accepted it and promptly went back to work.

However it happened the next night, too.

And on the third night Isiah found himself leaning against the frame of his door, arms folded across his chest, and simply observed Kalan as he washed dishes in the kitchen. The moonlight from outside illuminated his slender frame and it was then that he noticed how delicate he truly was. Not as gentle as Nitish or fragile as Durriken, mind. But there was a sense of vulnerability about him. Though he tried to hide it.

But Isiah could tell. He knew that Kalan wasn't as confident as he portrayed.

His snarky confidence hid his inner insecurities. His deadpan expression was cover for his uncertainty. His verbal sparring matches with Zesiro were an attempt to prove that he was indeed not a cripple and could stand on his own two feet. His indifference hid how desperately he wanted to feel...needed.

He wasn't useless. He wasn't a mistake. He wasn't a failed replacement. He wasn't Nitish.

He was Kalan. As tough as any imperial, but as vulnerable as any human.

Isiah uttered a soft sigh as he pushed himself to his feet, allowing the blanket that had been draped over his shoulders to fall back onto his chair as he made his way to the door of his office. And like he had done the last couple of nights, he lingered in the door way as his gazed toward the kitchen. And like the last few nights, Kalan was at the kitchen sink carefully washing the numerous medicine and medica bottles to be reused.

Nitish had wanted to wash the bottles earlier in the evening, but Isiah asked him not to. Now that Kalan was no longer wandering around the Cloudy Stronghold, hunting for information while avoiding detection, he was at a loss of what to do. His transition into the way of life that Tharsis was known for wasn't as easy as he portrayed.

It was at night that Kalan was the most active. When everyone else had retired for the night. When he could be alone, to allow his need to do something productive and useful to reveal itself. When he could actually frown and feel anxious. When he could bump into things and use his hands to guide himself without anyone looking at him in pity or asking if he needed help. When he didn't have to keep up the facade that he was perfectly fine with his lot in life.

He was so used to hiding.

Isiah was fairly certain that Zesiro knew of Kalan's insecurities, and Kalan knew of his. They were both 'spy buddies', so it would be no surprise. He was also certain that was the reason why Zesiro and Kalan bickered so much. To gently tease another without malice, to poke and prod like close friends prompted a sense of kinship. They weren't alone. If nothing else, they had each other.

But what about now?

There was far more than just the two of them now. Zesiro was obviously obsessed with Roxbury. Though the other man irked Isiah something fierce, Roxbury seemed to return Zesiro's affections. And Isiah wasn't that much of a hardass to interfere. Oh, he'd raise hell if Zesiro did anything to hurt their precious leader, but he was also somewhat confident that Zesiro wouldn't do anything to harm Roxbury in any way. Not intentionally anyway.

Isiah had first wondered if Kalan had feelings for Roxbury - not that he would be surprised. But the brown-haired runemaster told him and Mahalah one day point blank that he simply found Roxbury adorable and the urge to tease the life out of him to hear the slight rise in his voice was too good to miss. He also felt obligated, as Zesiro 'business partner', to give him hell whenever possible. He would expect no less from Zesiro if their positions were reversed.

Oddly, to hear that was somewhat of a relief.

He was glad that Mahalah had taken it upon himself to watch over Kalan as Isiah was needed to watch over a very ill and fragile Durriken. Though Mahalah had taken virtually everyone under his wing. Especially those from the Cloudy Stronghold after learning of their aversion to food. Durriken was fearful of being fed anything, but he was gradually allowing for both Mahalah and Nitish to cook for him. He still had a long way to go until he was even remotely healthy, but he was improving nonetheless.

Kalan, however, was more reluctant to open up. Not that it was much of a surprise. He had to hide his snarky and nosy self from others for at least seven years. To open up to anyone would difficult for him to do.

"You're awake."

Kalan's voice pulled Isiah from his thoughts and he immediately turned his full attention toward the runemaster in the kitchen, his eyes taking in the sight of his lithe frame being illuminated by the gentle glow of the full moon outside. "Yeah."

Kalan didn't bother to turn toward him or pause in what he was doing. "Maybe you could try sleeping in your bed tonight."

"Maybe," Isiah said simply as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and he found himself making his way toward the other man.

Out of everyone, Isiah found himself drawn to Kalan the most. Interest? Intrigue? The need to comfort? The subtle desire for companionship for himself? Perhaps seeing a bit of himself in him? Isiah wasn't sure of the true, real reason.

But he wasn't going to fight it. There was no point.

"You shouldn't bother," Kalan suddenly stated.

Isiah felt his brow furrow as he paused in his steps just behind the runemaster. "Shouldn't bother with what?"

"I know what you're doing," Kalan said as he continued to wash the glass bottles and delicately place them onto the drying rack. "You're looking for ways to restore my sight."

Isiah briefly wondered how he knew before he shrugged and mentally pushed that thought aside. "That's what medics do."

Placing the final clean bottle to the side, Kalan sighed aloud as he picked up a handtowel to dry his hands. "As I said; you shouldn't bother. Not even the likes of your penpal, the Miracle Medic, would be able to help me."

"Don't be so sure," Isiah said as he took the steps necessary to stand next to Kalan at the kitchen sink.

Again, Kalan sighed aloud, almost in an exasperated way as he shook his head. "There's nothing wrong with being blind," he said as he dropped the handtowel carelessly onto the counter and shrugged his shoulders. "Just something to deal with."

Isiah's eyes abruptly narrowed. "Though being blind doesn't have to be a burden; it also isn't a privilege, something to wear as a medal. I know that if any blind person is given the chance to see again, they'd take it. Why shouldn't you?"

Kalan was silent for a moment as he turned his face toward the window leading outside to the back garden. "It's what I deserve, after all."

"For being a failure?"

"...Yeah."

Isiah felt a surge of annoyance and protectiveness as he placed his hand on Kalan's shoulder and forced the runemaster around to face him. "That's a load of bullshit."

An expression of surprised appeared on Kalan's face fleetingly before it was replaced with his usual façade of disinterest.

"I'm a medic, Kalan," Isiah continued as he lifted his hand from his shoulder to take his chin gently, tilting his head back so that he was 'looking' up at him. "I know about your insecurities. About your need to be useful. To be needed. And there's nothing wrong with that. You want to see again. I know you do. Don't say otherwise."

Kalan looked momentarily ready to protest, to utter back some scathing retort. But as he parted his lips, an expected expression of helplessness appeared on his face and he idly smacked Isiah's hand away without any force or malice. "...What's the point of hoping? You said so yourself; it's irreversible."

"I did say that," Isiah admitted before he shook his head. "But back then I did not have the information I do now."

"…Are you saying there is a chance?" Kalan asked him softly, his voice this time not hiding his vulnerability.

Isiah gently slipped his finger under Kalan's chin to tilt his face up toward his. "Don't underestimate the stubbornness of a medic. I will find a way for you to see again. Even if it's just to show you how rugged and handsome I am."

The corner of Kalan's mouth twitched into a slight but genuine smile and he made a sound that was akin to that of a very small laugh. "Handsome, huh?" he murmured.

Kalan's expression suddenly turned contemplative and he unexpectedly lifted his hands, reaching up toward Isiah's face. Isiah was startled at first, but kept still when Kalan's fingertips brushed lightly over the skin of his jawline and cheeks. He understood what Kalan was attempting to do. He was attempting to 'see' him with his fingertips. Something he couldn't do all that often because he was a Cloudy Stronghold native.

A single touch could lead to death, after all.

So for Kalan to be willing to reach out and touch him…?

"You have skills of your own, don't you?" Isiah asked instead as Kalan slipped his fingers toward the hinge of his jaw, deftly touching the hair near his temples.

"I don't have a fancy word for it," Kalan murmured as his touch remained light and gentle. "I can sense the auras of others. And I just...see things in my mind. Images in black and white." A finger suddenly trailed over Isiah's bottom lip, as soft as a feather. "Like...wisps of smoke."

Isiah chose not to ask any more questions. Instead, he stayed still as Kalan continued to gently study his face, his fingertips noticing every line and crinkle, and every bump and dimple. He seemed almost fascinated in a way.

It was probably the first time he had actually carefully and thoughtfully studied the face of another.

"Whether you are rugged or handsome is still up for debate," Kalan said as he slowly pulled his hands back, his fingertips ghosting against Isiah's jawline once more before falling away to his sides. "But I can see that you are tired. Don't push yourself because of me. I've been blind for years now. A few more won't hurt."

The moonlight shining in his eyes made them appear brighter than he had ever seen them before. Or maybe it was the small shimmer of hope that was making them more beautiful.

 _Who knows…?_

"I do want to see again," Kalan whispered softly.

"I'll find a way," Isiah found himself stating as he lifted his hands to touch Kalan's upper arms, his fingers tightening slightly when the runemaster unexpectedly took a slight step toward him. "No matter how long it takes. You're stuck with me until then."

Kalan simply gazed up at him, his eyes not meeting his, but slowly moving, as if desperately trying to see him. His brow furrowed slightly, indicating that he was inwardly struggling with something before he sighed, his shoulders losing their tension as he lifted his hands once more and pressed them again his chest. He tilted his head down before he took a step forward and…rested his cheek against Isiah's chest.

Isiah's hands on Kalan's arms slipped around to wrap around his back and shoulders, to pull the other man closer to him. He was surprised by how…easy and natural it felt to have Kalan in his arms. He had held many others before. As comfort. As reassurance. But this felt…different.

"The sacrifices one must make," Kalan murmured as Isiah rested his chin atop of his head.

Silence fell upon them as they stood in the kitchen, Kalan resting comfortably against Isiah's chest while Isiah kept his arms securely around the other man. Neither knew how long they stood there like that in the comfortable silence.

They only stirred when a slight sound from upstairs caused Isiah to lift his head to look up at the ceiling. He briefly wondered if Achyuta had somehow found himself in a coughing fit and if Nitish was going to come looking for him like he had done many times before.

However, Kalan just sighed aloud and shook his head as he lifted his head from Isiah's chest, though made no attempt to push away from him. "Zesiro just snuck into Roxbury's room."

Isiah felt his eye twitch out of protectiveness. "Do you want to put the fear of god into him? Or should I?"

Kalan uttered a low, soft chuckle, another genuine one before he surprisingly shook his head. "Let it pass for tonight," he said as he rested his cheek against Isiah's chest once more. "Zesiro is a dumbass and a fool, but he does care for Roxy."

Isiah decided not to say anything. Instead he kept his arms tightly around Kalan, to hold him for as long as he needed to be held.


	18. Lap of Luxury

**Title** : Lap of Luxury

 **Summary** : Isiah had been overworking himself. Kalan has an idea to distract him.

 **Pairings** : Isiah/Kalan

 **AN** : I know everyone is busy with EO5 demo, I have been too~ But I needed to take a break for a bit and do some more writing (before I'm totally lost to EO5). I haven't written anything EO4 related for aaaaaaaaaaages. I feel bad for neglecting my precious boys. This is really just some mindless fluff, but that's perfectly ok~ Hope you enjoy reading and let me know what you think~!

* * *

Isiah raked an irritated hand through his hair as he leaned back into his seat and stared at the medical files scattered atop of his desk. He had a twitch in his back and a creak in his neck from being sat at his desk for what felt like to him to be twenty-four hours straight. Honestly, he hadn't a clue how long he had been slaving over his desk. Nitish, Mahalah, and Roxbury had all popped their heads into his office to check up on him at some points, all of them asking for him to take a break.

But he couldn't afford to take a break. If he did, work would only pile up more.

Damn rookies throwing themselves into the deep end of exploration the second they gain access to an airship. The Phaedron guild had better and more important things to do with their time instead of saving the asses of a bunch of ungrateful and haughty little shits.

 _He_ had better things to do with his time.

As the head medical researcher, he was meant to treat each patient in the same manner, make judgements based on their physical conditions first, and offer the best treatment possible – regardless of how much the little assholes pissed him off.

He was also meant to keep his own personal feelings in check. But really, his brothers and guild would always come first. No matter what. If he had to choose between a nameless little prick and his guildmate; no contest, his guild would always come first.

Despite what a lot of his patients seemed to think, he personally wanted to focus all his time and attention on a subject that was deeply important to not only him, but to another as well.

What he wanted was to restore Kalan's sight.

That was his main focus now. There had to be a way. He could bring obnoxious rookies back from the brink of death; he should be able to restore someone's sight, sight they had lost due to trauma of harsh training.

He had been in contact with his penpal in Lagaard once more, and together they may have come up with a possible strategy and therapy treatment that could potentially restore Kalan's sight for good. But they aren't a hundred percent certain since Lynus was obviously unable to examine the patient himself and had to rely on notes and readings from Isiah, and Lynus had admitted that his skill of diagnosing a patient was based more of sight and spiritual sensory than anything else. And Isiah himself didn't want to start Kalan on a treatment he wasn't fully confident in. He didn't want to put the runemaster through any unnecessary discomfort, or have his hopes shattered should the treatment prove unsuccessful.

Kalan had experienced enough trauma and disappointment already.

As he roughly scratched the back of his neck, Isiah flicked his gaze over to his office window and noted that it had to be beyond midnight now. Probably two or three in the morning. A time he had seen plenty of the last few nights. In a row, unfortunately. Though, it did mean that the others had retired for the night, getting much needed rest of their own.

And it meant that he didn't have to deal with the concerned gazes of his guildmates checking up on him constantly.

So he was a little startled and put off when the door to his office slowly creaked open and a figure lingered in the doorway.

Isiah honestly wasn't all that surprised when Kalan stepped into the room, the door falling softly shut behind him as he walked to stand near his desk. He carried nothing with him, just a slight frown on his lips. He was dressed in his normal robes, his hair flawless as per usual. Which indicated that he hadn't been to bed, either.

That honestly agitated Isiah a little. Hypocritical to be certain, but he was the medic around here; do as he says, not as he does.

"You need to take a break," Kalan stated, not suggested.

Isiah snorted lightly and shook his head as he turned his gaze back toward his medical files. "Not if these damn rookies keep trying to kill themselves," he muttered in reply. "Tell them to stop and then I'll take a break."

Kalan was silent for a moment. "The only thing I can think of for stopping these dipshits involves physical, bodily trauma, so that's obviously not going to work."

Despite his weariness, Isiah chuckled at the deadpanned seriousness of Kalan's voice. He could easily imagine Kalan setting those useless rookies on fire with a flick of his fingers. Honestly? That would make fixing them up all the more entertaining.

"You really do need to take your focus off of your work for a bit," Kalan said, his tone softer, genuine in concern.

A tone that Isiah himself was the sole recipient of.

The one thing he did enjoy about these late nights was that he could spend time with Kalan. Just the two of them. Alone and comfortable. Kalan not hiding behind his habitual mask of indifference and sassiness. Being honest and open. Talking to him, not just sassing or bantering.

Under the cover of night, when everyone else had retired to bed, Isiah was able to see Kalan in a different light. Experience and appreciate the diversity of emotions he was capable of. See the expression of vulnerability on his face. Hold him in his arms when he allowed his fears and uncertainties to be aired. And to gently heal the bumps and bruises he had collected during the day in response to keeping his disinterested façade fully intact.

Isiah sighed and ran his hand over his face. "I know," he admitted. Still, he couldn't stop working. Not yet.

But before Isiah to turn his focus back to his work, Kalan walked around to his side of his desk and lingered next to him, looking down at him as if contemplating something. He then reached forward and placed a hand on Isiah's wrist, lifting it up and away from his desk, away from his work. Isiah arched a questioning eyebrow despite knowing Kalan wouldn't see it. Was he planning on dragging him out of the room? Though Isiah wouldn't do anything to fight back, to put any strain on the runemaster, he wasn't going to go along quietly either.

However an expression of surprise soon appeared on his face when Kalan dropped his hold on Isiah's wrist and turned around slightly and…plopped himself back onto Isiah's lap.

He…honestly hadn't expected something like that.

"What are you doing?" Isiah asked.

Kalan shrugged slightly as he fidgeted on Isiah's lap in an attempt to get himself comfortable, draping his legs over Isiah's so that his feet were up off the floor and was resting fully upon him. "Maybe I just think you should pay attention to me instead," he replied in all honestly.

Isiah snorted lightly, but made no effort to push the other away from him. "What are you, a cat?" he said as he wrapped an arm around Kalan's shoulders to ensure that he stayed safely on his lap and didn't accidently slip off and hurt himself.

Unexpectedly, Kalan made a soft 'meowing' noise and playfully batted at his cheek with his hand, in a way much like a defiant feline would do. It made the corner of Isiah's mouth twitch into a half smile. He had to be careful with his words and retorts with Kalan; he always managed to one up him in some way.

Not that he was complaining. He enjoyed bantering with the brown-haired runemaster.

Glancing down upon Kalan's face, Isiah witnessed another emotion, one he hoped no one else had or will have the pleasure of seeing; shy embarrassment.

Kalan had manoeuvred himself on Isiah's lap so that he was curled toward him, his cheek pressed against his shoulder. His long brown hair that curtained over his shoulder did little to hide the light dusting of red across his nose and cheeks.

He was both…adorable and beautiful.

"If you won't stop to take a break, then I'll distract you until you do," Kalan said as he dipped his head forward to duck under Isiah's chin.

Isiah lifted his chin up before resting it upon Kalan's hair. "I can work around you," he said in light defiance.

"You can try," Kalan replied quickly. "I'll just have to resort to other methods."

"Other methods of distracting me?" What else would he do? Now, that was a curious and intriguing thought.

"Nothing else had worked so far."

Oh? What else had he tried? Or maybe he hadn't and this was literally the first thing he thought of? "So this is the last resort?"

"Let's put it this way; if this doesn't work, then I'm setting everything on fire."

Isiah chuckled from deep within his chest. He wouldn't put it past him do try.

Knowing that he had been successfully defeated and honestly not wanting to pass up the opportunity of having Kalan cutely embarrassed in his arms, Isiah leaned back into his chair. He curled his arm tighter around Kalan's shoulders while he laid his other arm over Kalan's legs, his fingers subconsciously curling under Kalan's knees to pull the other man closer, and to once again ensure that he would slip and fall.

Kalan curled closer toward Isiah, one hand resting on his lap while the other reached up to toy with a strand of his brown his, his fingers 'inexplicably' close to Isiah's hand that rested on his shoulder.

"You've been overworking yourself," Kalan said after a moment of silence.

Isiah sighed. "Yeah. Damn rookies don't know their limits."

"That's not the only reason."

Isiah didn't say anything. There was nothing to say, really. He hadn't been attempting to hide his research from Kalan, from anyone, but he didn't talk about it either. He just…didn't want to get anyone's, everyone's hopes up.

Softly, Kalan sighed and lifted his head from Isiah's chest, tilting his head back slightly to turn his face up at him. And Isiah looked down at him in return, noticing that though his amethyst coloured eyes were hazy from his blindness, they still sparkled so gently from the dim lighting of the room.

They honestly matched the slight flush to his cheeks rather well.

"I may not be able to see your gaze on me, see the determination in your eyes, but I can feel it," Kalan said to him. "And though…and though I appreciate it, I don't want you pushing yourself. Not for this. Not for me."

Isiah frowned, the need to vehemently protest on the tip of his tongue. But he fell silent when Kalan's hand touched Isiah's softly. Isiah responded by splaying out his fingers ever so slightly, urging Kalan to interlock their fingers together. And Kalan promptly obliged, slipping his slender but slightly callous fingers with Isiah's, locking together tightly.

"We've had a discussion similar to this before, remember?" Isiah said as he removed his hand from Kalan's knees to instead reach up to cup the side of Kalan's face, earning a gentle gasp from the runemaster. "Once I restore your sight, then I'll rest. Until then, you're just going to have to put up with me working."

Kalan 'stared' at him for a long moment, his eyes curiously finding Isiah's as he leaned his cheek into Isiah's hand. "Maybe you should find a treatment and then get some rest before treating me," he unexpectedly said. "If the first face I see after so long is yours, I don't want to see you looking drawn and exhausted."

He then reached up with his hand to flick a strand of Isiah's hair from his eyes. "You're going to have to live up to the ruggedly handsome image I have of you in my mind."

Isiah felt a smile tug on his lips. "I'll be certain to find a way to pretty myself up before the great unveiling," he said before his gaze flickered back toward his desk to where the medical files were awaiting him.

Though he was actually quite (ok, unquestionably) comfortable with Kalan sprawled out on his lap, resting contentedly, he really needed to get through a few more files tonight.

"You should head to bed," Isiah said despite making no attempt to arouse or dislodge Kalan from his arms and lap. "I will still have a few files to sort through."

But Kalan shook his head and made no attempt to move either. He, instead, seemed to make the effort to make himself more comfortable upon Isiah's lap. "You can work around me," he said as he rested his cheek upon Isiah's chest once more and closed his eyes.

Work with a docile and peaceful Kalan resting against him, his breathing ghosting against his exposed collar bone and hair tickling the side of his throat?

Well, Isiah never had to do such a thing before, but there certainly was no harm in finding out.


	19. Gossip of the Observant

**Title** : Gossip of the Observant

 **Summary** : A few members of the Phaedron guild gossip about Isiah and Kalan and their developing closeness.

 **Pairings** : Isiah/Kalan, slight Zesiro/Roxbury

 **Prompt** : Anonymous said: "If you would be so kind, could I request Isiah/Kalan, but like from another person's point of view? Maybe just gossiping about the two of them please~?"

 **AN** : It's been aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaages since I wrote with my EO4 boys! So glad that I get to remedy that right here and now :3 Hope you enjoy reading~!

* * *

Nitish had always been extraordinary observant. With his intuitive and psychic abilities, it was of little surprised. He could sense things that others could not; prompting him to see things that only a few other observant individuals would also see.

He always tried to keep an eye out for his family members and guildmates. He didn't necessarily enjoy being nosy, but there were times where his family was troubled by an emotion or a misunderstanding. And those were the times where Nitish felt compelled to step in, to offer a gentle word of reassurance.

There was no need for secrets and misunderstandings to push others apart. Not after everything they've been through.

There was one person, though, that Nitish was not entirely sure of how to approach. It wasn't as though he was nervous or afraid. Not at all. It was just…the person that had piqued his interest was Isiah himself. And his developing closeness to Kalan.

Isiah had always been his and Varuna's brother and caretaker. The one who took care of them, protected them, encouraged them. So Nitish was honestly thrilled that Isiah seemed to be growing close to Kalan. He needed someone close to him, someone he could share his life with. Just like Nitish with Achyuta, and Vuruna with Bryce.

It wasn't all that much of a surprise, now that Nitish was able to think about it. Isiah and Kalan gravitating toward one another. Their personalities were close. They were able to communicate easily, and sarcastically at times. It was obvious to many that Isiah enjoyed hearing Kalan's deadpan snark as he commentated on their guildmates.

There was more between them than their shared desired to be snarky. There had to be more. Nitish knew that there was. He just didn't know what that was exactly.

He wasn't worried. Or even amused. Just curious. Of course, it was none of his business.

Still, it would make him so happy to know what was developing between them. Isiah had been so supportive of him and Varuna, and with their significant others. Surely they should be allowed to do the same for him?

Ah, but Isiah was indeed a caretaker. He wasn't the type to bother other people. It was all about the needs of others, though he would claim otherwise. Perhaps the need of his guildmates and family members would be more accurate.

So, perhaps, Isiah wasn't sure how to broach the subject either.

It honestly didn't matter all that much. On whether they spoke candidly about it or kept it between themselves. Nitish knew that Isiah was growing closer to Kalan and he seemed content with what was happening, letting it happen on its own time.

Nitish had to admit that he had witnessed and seen a few things regarding the two and their developing relationship. He certainly didn't go out of his way to try to catch the two in the act. Most certainly not. With his abilities he didn't really need too.

Even so, it was nice seeing the two of them together. He had ventured down stairs a few times, late in the night, in search for medicine for Achyuta. And during those times he had silently witnessed a tender moment between Isiah and Kalan. Fleeting moments because they would both be alerted to his presence as soon as he had reached the bottom step and silently move apart.

But they lingered enough for him to see, to know what they had previously been doing.

It was nothing scandalous by any stretch of the imagination. Just soft, sweet moments. Sitting side by side on the couch with Kalan curled up against Isiah's side, his head on his shoulder as they talked. One time Nitish even managed to glimpse Kalan scurrying from Isiah's lap.

Other times he had stumbled across them actually asleep together on the couch. Again with Kalan curled up tightly against Isiah's side, looking vulnerable and yet protected. Isiah's arm was always curled tightly around his shoulders, after all, holding him close against him, resting his head gently against the top of his.

They always looked so peaceful and comfortable. He didn't truly understand why they were hiding. But, perhaps, it was Kalan's insecurities that made him hesitant to show any displays of affection in front of others. In the open.

So, Nitish chose not to say anything lest he made Kalan uncomfortable.

Nitish lifted his gaze from the book he had been staring at, completely lost to his thoughts, when he heard a chair scrap against the floor next to him. He looked to his right to watch as Mahalah took a seat and folded his arms atop of the kitchen table. He smiled at him in greeting before turning to look forward, across the room to the seating area.

Nitish turned to look as well. His gaze, however, travelled to the open door of Isiah's office where he stood with Kalan as they both spoke to Roxbury and Zesiro. Roxbury seemed comfortable as he shared words with them, but next to him Zesiro wore a slightly bemused look. His brow was furrowed slightly and his stance tense. Almost protective.

It didn't take Nitish long to realise why. And he smiled to himself.

Isiah and Kalan were actually standing shoulder to shoulder and Kalan covertly had a hold of Isiah's elbow with his hand. Isiah's arm was dropped straight against his side, his hand not within his pocket, in his usual stance. Instead he allowed Kalan to hold onto his elbow without complaint. His hand relaxed, yet fingers idly toyed with the material of Kalan's runemaster coat.

Roxbury didn't seem to notice how close Isiah and Kalan were physically. But Zesiro did. And he was perplexed by it. Internally struggling with being silently protective and the perpetual big brother that he truly was. And with the need to show restraint and not demand that Isiah step away from Kalan right this instant because starting a fight with Isiah would not win him any points with anyone.

Nitish briefly wondered if Isiah was aware of that, but felt that his physical closeness to Kalan was unconscious. Not something meant to provoke. The two probably didn't truly realise what they were doing.

"Isiah and Kalan certainly have grown close, haven't they?" Mahalah suddenly remarked to him.

Nitish turned his gaze away from the sight before him to glance at the purple-haired dancer next to him. He was silently pleased to know that someone else had noticed as well.

"They certainly have," Nitish agreed. "While Isiah is still working late into the night with his research, he has been a lot calmer. It seems that Kalan's presence is peaceful and calming to him during the night."

"During the day, too," Mahalah replied as he turned to look at him with a knowing smile. "And I've noticed that Kalan himself is a lot calmer. When he first moved into the clinic, he was always so tense. I can't say I blame him, being in such a new environment. But now? He walks around the town and the clinic far more smoothly. He has his trips and stumbles, but isn't as bothered by them."

Nitish nodded his head in total agreement. "He was also understandably afraid of a touch. While he still is, Isiah seems to be able to show him that a touch from another doesn't mean any kind of pain."

"Well, Isiah certainly has gotten a lot more touchy with Kalan around himself, hasn't he?" Mahalah added with an amused glint in his eyes. "A hand on his back, on his shoulder, or against his side whenever he is either trying to guide him somewhere or to speak in confidence."

"And Kalan grabbing onto Isiah's coat or elbow has an immediate calming effect on him," Nitish added with a smile before a thought occurred to him. "Do you think that many of the others have noticed?"

Unexpectedly, Mahalah chuckled. "Well, it appears that Telem had noticed something. Apparently, he approached Falkner about it and asked him if there was any logical reason for Isiah and Kalan to be so physically close to one another all the time. And, well, Falkner was not at all ready for that kind of conversation."

Nitish just had to laugh. Oh, poor Falkner to be certain. But at least Telem came to him with his queries rather than try to work it out on his own. Quite the display of trust, yes?

"And, between you and me, Count is absolutely thrilled by the prospect," Mahalah added, which drew another light, airy laugh from Nitish.

"Don't let me catch you sneaking in the window again."

Nitish turned his gaze away from Mahalah upon the sound of Isiah's voice, filled with a threatening tone, and watched as Zesiro shoot Isiah a smirk as Roxbury flushed and tried to drag him through the front doors.

"Of course. Whatever you say, Isa," Zesiro replied tauntingly, cheekily.

Isiah's eyes narrowed at the nickname. He pressed his lips together for a second and drew in a sharp intake of air. "Good to know we've come to an understanding, Zesty."

Zesiro's smirk disappeared as he snapped around to face Isiah, an irritated look on his face. Isiah simply gave him a sharp hand gesture. No, he didn't use any fingers. Just lifted his hand in such a way that silently taunted Zesiro in return. Silently saying "Well, what are you going to do about it?" and provoking him to actually try.

Roxbury soon realised the animosity and had to loop his arms around Zesiro's waist and stomach in an attempt to forcibly drag him outside of the clinic through the front doors. Isiah kept eye contact with Zesiro the entire time while Kalan dropped his chin to his chest and seemed to try to cover a smirk or chuckle with his hair. And his hand remained clutching Isiah's elbow, never wavering.

Nitish had to smile and shake his head.

Next to him Mahalah chuckled softly as well. "Well, if nothing else, Isiah has certainly gotten snarkier himself."

There was certainly no denying that.


	20. Comfort

**Title** : Comfort

 **Summary** : Baldur has a nightmare and gets comfort from two surprising people.

 **Pairings** : Bryce/Varuna

 **Prompt** : miharusilver: If it's okay, how about Baldur waking up from a nightmare and somehow he seeks out the nearest couple (Isiah/Kalan or Bryce/Varuna) to snuggle up to for comfort. If it's not too much trouble...

 **AN** : Annnnnnnd this will be the last request for now :3 I think I'll start working on that next CtS project. Hopefully I'll have the first chapter ready for next week. Until then, hope you enjoy reading Baldur receiving some snuggly attention~

* * *

Baldur couldn't move. His arms, his legs; they wouldn't respond. He couldn't even open his eyes. He wanted to. Wanted to desperately. To move. To see. And yet, he was also afraid to open his eyes. For he already knew where he was. The dry dust parched his throat. The rocky terrain against his back brought waves of pain each time he breathed. The absolutely stillness of the stale air around him.

He was at that place again. That forsaken place. Lost within the old, crumbling ruins. Alone.

The Forgotten Capital.

Why was he here? He didn't want to be here? It wasn't fair. Anywhere but here. Anywhere but this god-forsaken grave!

Pooling all his strength, Baldur sat up bolt straight, a gasp mixed with a desperately afraid whimper on his lips. His hand instinctively flew up to cover his mouth as he panted harshly. With painfully wide eyes, he stared out at the all-encompassing darkness before him.

Only the darkness, this darkness, was…different. It wasn't as…dark. He could see shadows from the corner of his eyes. Things moving all around him. But it was…different.

There was no suffocating smell of dry dust. No smell of plants decaying. No hard edges of spiralling roots.

It was soft. And green.

Baldur's breathing was still harsh and uneven, but he felt an immediate wave of calm wash over him. He remembered where he was. Really was. He was in the Lush Woodlands. Third floor. Far away from the Forgotten Capital. Far away from those harsh, spiralling roots of a ruined city.

Far from alone.

Baldur dropped his hand from his mouth and glanced to his side to see that Blayden was still curled up asleep next to him. And next to him slept Fletcher and Miach. Four of them in a simple camping tent. Camping in the Lush Woodlands for the night.

He was safe. He wasn't at that god forsaken place where he…

Baldur shook his head frantically to rid himself of that memory and drew in a slow, shaky breath.

He glanced over at Blayden again and was thankful that he was still asleep. He didn't want him to see him in such a state. Eyes wide, breathing erratic, and covered in a light sheen of sweat.

It was probably a stupid thing to worry about. Unfortunately, Blayden had witnessed a few of his startling awakenings from a nightmare before. From _that_ nightmare.

Tonight, though, Baldur wanted Blayden to stay asleep. So that he could let himself learn to deal with his nightmares on his one. Alone. It…wasn't fair on Blayden to always have to put up with him like that.

Slowly, Baldur pushed back the light blanket that had been draped over him and he carefully rose to his feet. He had to step carefully so that he wouldn't accidentally step on anyone.

The art of huddling together to sleep whenever they camped out in the field was still a rather foreign concept to Baldur. The closeness. The clinginess. He wasn't used to that at all. Not that he had much say in the matter. Frankly, he didn't have any say. Blayden was persistent and surprisingly strong. He'd put him in a choke hold to ensure that Baldur slept alongside them if he had to.

Immediately brushing that embarrassing thought aside, Baldur slipped out of the tent. As he stood amongst the untainted greenery of the labyrinth, the cool night air felt refreshing against his clammy skin.

The campsite was located in a small chamber-like clearing, a set of large stone doors the only way in or out. The campfire had burnt down to smouldering embers, offering only the most minimal of light.

And near that campfire, snuggled together on a blanket of their own were Varuna and Bryce. Asleep.

Baldur always felt a slight ache in his chest whenever he happened on the two being close with one another. The sight of Varuna resting snug against Bryce's side as he rested his head on his chest, and with Bryce keeping a secure arm around his waist in return, was a common one. So the ache he would feel was ungodly annoying.

He wasn't sure of the cause – annoyance? No, that didn't sound right. Jealousy? Of what, exactly? He was relatively fine with their snuggling.

So…envy?

N-no, that couldn't be right either.

Feeling unreasonably flustered all of a sudden, Baldur shook his head again and attempt to instead concentrate on the cool air around him.

And abruptly remembered why he was outside the tent in the first place.

Baldur grimaced, slightly relieved that he was the only one awake. He concentrated on his breathing for a moment before his mind drifted on to what else he should, or rather could do.

Going for a walk would ease his nerves, but he knew that though Varuna and Bryce were relaxed and asleep, they were far from unguarded. The second he attempted to head for the doors to have some time to himself, they would immediately awaken.

Chances were, however, they would awaken soon regardless. His presence alone was sure to alert them, regardless of what he did. So maybe he should just accept his face and sit by the campfire. Maybe busy himself with stoking it again.

And, just as Baldur had predicted, and despite trying to stay quiet anyway, the moment he took a mere couple of steps toward the campfire, Varuna suddenly lifted his head from Bryce's chest and looked over at him.

Despite having just awoken and the darkness of the night around them, Varuna's gaze was sharp and clear.

"Baldur? What's wrong?" he immediately asked.

"Can't sleep," Baldur muttered in response, unable to hold back a wince as Bryce also lifted his head up to look at him.

"Miach isn't giggling menacingly in his sleep again, is he?" Bryce asked.

Surprisingly, the corner of Baldur's mouth twitched into a half smile of amusement. But he shook his head as he reinstated his path to the campfire.

"It's nothing, stop fussing," Baldur said defiantly. "I just can't sleep. It happens sometimes."

As he sat himself on the grass near the campfire, he noticed from the corner of his eye Varuna and Bryce share a concerned look between them. They both then sat up and Baldur released a silent, exasperated sigh.

So much for trying to handle it on his own. There people won't leave him alone for even a second!

"Bad dream?" Varuna suddenly asked him, causing him to grimace once more.

"Of course not. What would I have nightmares about?" Baldur prattled nervously as he busied himself by attempting to stoke the campfire.

He heard Varuna sigh and then the sound of the nightseeker pushing himself to his feet. His steps were almost inaudible as he slowly approached him.

"About the Forgotten Capital."

Baldur froze, a lump of emotion suddenly lodging in his throat. He wanted to deny it immediately, but he was genuinely surprised and shocked that Varuna was able to guess it. How did he guess it? How did he know?

"It was Blayden, wasn't it?" Baldur choked out, surprising himself by the hoarseness (and minor betrayal) in his own voice.

"No," Varuna said as he crouched down next to him. "We've heard you trying to keep it to yourself."

Baldur snapped his head around to face him. "What?"

"We wanted to ask you about it, but we didn't want to make you uneasy. More than you are now," Varuna revealed. "And you would have just tried harder to keep it a secret from us, wouldn't you?"

Baldur found himself truly speechless for the moment. All he was able to do was gape openly at Varuna. His mind was blank. They…heard him? No, that couldn't be possible. He was purposely hiding it. He tried to hide it. He thought he was hiding it.

"So, what now?" Baldur murmured accusingly. "You know, so what? What are you going to do about it?"

Varuna just looked at him in silence. His red eyes were as sharp as usual, and yet…no, did he have pity in his eyes? Was he looking at him with pity?

"Empathy," Varuna unexpectedly said, replying as if he had somehow read his thoughts. "I know exactly how you feel. I've had many a sleepless night due to nightmares, too."

He…did?

"About what?" Baldur whispered shakily.

Varuna's gaze softened further. "About the airship crash, about two very different ment, about a life I still can't recall."

Oh…

Varuna suddenly, but gently grabbed Baldur by his arm. "Come here," he instructed.

Baldur glanced at the hand holding him arm and furrowed his brow in confusion. "What?"

"Just come," Varuna urdered.

Greatly puzzled, Baldur allowed Varuna to tug him to his feet. And with his hand still clutching Baldur's arm, led him toward where Bryce still sat on the blanket that he and Varuna shared. His confusion growing, he turned to give Varuna a slight frown.

But any questions about his motives was lost when Varuna unexpectedly tightened his hold on his arm and pushed him toward Bryce. Wordlessly, and without any effort on his part, Bryce caught Baldur as he stumbled in surprise and brought him down onto the blanket next to him.

"What are you doing?" Baldur immediately asked as Varuna sat down next to him, virtually trapping him between him and Bryce.

But once again he fell silent, completely speechless as Varuna wrapped his arms around him in a hug and pulled him to lie down on the blanket next to him. With Varuna practically cradling him against his chest, and his chin resting atop of Baldur's hair, Baldur felt another pair of arms encircle him. It was, of course, Bryce. He lay himself on his side behind Baldur, and reached out to hold both Baldur and Varuna with his protective arms.

Baldur immediately tensed, and his eyes widened as his face felt unexpectedly warm. He was so surprised and stunned by what occurred that he didn't even think about struggling. "Wh-what are you-?"

"I learnt not to face things on my own, and you will, too," Varuna said as he nuzzled his cheek against Baldur's hair. "The true nightmare is over now. You can sleep peacefully again."

"You both get some sleep," Bryce added. "I'll protect you now."

That…this…was this really all right? Was he allowed this comfort and warmth?

Despite himself, Baldur felt his eyes slowly slip close. It really was warm. So maybe it was ok. Even just this once.

Besides, he doubted he could get away from these two. From this warmth. They would just track him down, wouldn't they? Absolutely refuse to leave him alone, no matter what. Blayden definitely would. So would Logre. And Achyuta. Isiah just to spite him, probably. But definitely Roxbury and Nitish. Falkner and Mahalah, too. Not to forget Zoran and Biast.

He should feel awkward. He should feel tense. He was sandwiched between Varuna and Bryce after all. Being practically snuggled by the both of them. Something completely unheard of. But he didn't. He was actually comfortable. So much so that he soon found himself drifting off to the sleep.

And he didn't have a nightmare again that night.


	21. More Than A Memory

**Title** : More Than A Memory

 **Summary** : Logre finally visits his Emperor's gravesite and allows himself to finally begin the healing process. But after a confrontation he would have liked to have avoided, a familiar face returns. Could it really be true…?

 **Pairings** : :'D

 **AN** : Yes, I'm giving Logre the Gerald treatment :'D It started off as just a cute little idea that might be an AU but it clung onto my heart and won't let go and it's whispering to me that Logre deserves some damn happiness. And you know what? HE FUCKING DOES SO HELP ME HE WILL AHHH PREPARE YOURSELF LOGRE! Also ending might be a tad mean :3c Enjoy nevertheless~

* * *

The sky was a perfect blue as Logre stood before a weathered headstone covered in moss. A bouquet of white lilies rested in his hands. He trailed his fingers over the fragile tissue paper before he knelt down and placed the bouquet carefully in front of the headstone. He leaned forward to gentle touch the moss covered stone. Where a few letters had recently been engraved. Where they finally knew of the mysterious man's name and were finally able to put his name to rest.

Afrodr.

Logre murmured a sigh as he sat back on his heels. He gazed at the weathered headstone while his mind wandered.

He hadn't been able to properly mourn the loss of his emperor, even though he had ten long years to do so. When he took on the name of Whirlwind he had to also cast aside his connection to the empire and to anyone who was connected. Including Varuna and Nitish.

Though relieved that they had also survived the crash and though he had wanted to watch over them as they were so young, he knew he couldn't. They were just too young. Varuna didn't remember anything. Nitish wouldn't utter a word for years. So he took on the task of returning to the empire alone. They didn't need to get involved again. Emperor Afrodr never wanted such young innocents to get involved in the first place.

It was hard to pretend he didn't know the twins. Especially when Nitish would look at him like he recognised him from somewhere. And yet could not quite pinpoint where.

Seeing the fragile twins under the care of Isiah and his father eased his guilt. They were in safe hands with them. Far safer than they would have been with him.

He could not have predicted how, despite his best efforts, the twins along with Isiah and so many others would become entrenched in the Empire and their plans to resurrect the Yggdrasil Titan.

Logre shook his head to rid himself of those memories. And he swallowed back the rising feelings of guilt for the series of betrayals he had inflicted upon the innocent members of Guild Phaedron.

A light breeze that ruffled his hair caused Logre to turn his gaze from his Emperor's head stone and instead gaze up at the sky once more. The cloudless blue sky of the Windy Plains was reassuring in a way. And yet there was also a tinge of fear and sadness.

For it was in these very same skies where the Fire Dragon attacked the Emperor's airship, causing it to crash in the first place. And it was the grass that he knelt upon where Afrodr took his last breaths, his precious son in his thoughts until the very end.

Logre turned his gaze from the sky and glanced over his shoulder where the entrance to the Old Forest Mine was found. Where the airship Duscha sat. With the Phaedron Guild. Waiting. For him. Granting him the space and time necessary to allow himself to finally find some form of peace in front of his Emperor's grave.

Afrodr's grave resided within walking distance of the Old Forest Mine. They had buried him close to the place where he took his last breathes. Isiah and his father were the ones to have taken care of him during his last moments, making promises, offering reassuring words to a man they did not know. They didn't even know his name. But they stayed with him and eased him through his passing.

Ironic that Emperor Afrodr found far more compassion and kindness from a pair of strangers in those last few hours of his life than he had in the entirety of his reign over the empire.

Logre couldn't help but allow another wave of guilt to wash over him. For ten years he had secretly mourned his Emperor's and comrades' death, yet he had not known where he had been buried all this time. He felt guilty about not visiting sooner. The least he could have done for the man who took him under his wing was to attend to his grave. Mourn for the future that was taken from him while celebrating the life he had lived.

The golden locket that hung around his neck and rested against his chest suddenly felt heavy.

It was a gift from Emperor Afrodr. He gave to him not long before they departed on their journey. He told him to fill it with memories. Good memories. Ones that gave him the strength to push forward, even when he felt like the world was against him. Even when he felt like giving up.

Logre honestly didn't know what to think about the gift back then. Of course he couldn't turn it down. So he took it with the promise of filling it with a precious memory, even though he wasn't sure what Emperor meant by precious memory.

He clasped the locket in his hand for a moment before he lifted it up over his head and flicked it open. With a soft little click it popped open to reveal two small photographs. One was of four children. Huddled together as they looked up at the camera with expressions of intrigue or confusion on their faces.

Four children. Varuna, Nitish, Achyuta, and even Xander. Ironic, or perhaps it was just destiny that Achyuta and Nitish had met once in their childhood and had somehow found their way back to each other. He often thought of telling them this little fact but decided against it. It doesn't need to be known. The two were so in love already.

The photo was taken on a whim. Varuna and Nitish were two children elected to join the fleet while Achyuta and Xander had been students of his for a short time.

To think…they were back together in Tharsis. Varuna with Bryce. And Xander with Ciaran, the same young man Logre had worked with to develop the airships. A part of him wondered that maybe the fates were trying to make up for the pain and suffering they had all endured. Or maybe it was Emperor Afrodr himself throwing his weight around on the other side.

The other photo, however, held faces Logre was more than certain he would only ever see again in his dreams.

It was a photo of his comrades that were also elected for the Emperor's fleet. Pardoned off onto three ships. Claudia to fly one ship with two young and innocent occupants of her own. While the other, that of a supply shit, was in the hands of a young man called Jeroden.

Watching as the airship that Claudia pilot go down in the extreme weather of the Sacred Mountains was devastating. Emperor Afrodr himself had to reign in his pain at the sight. A strong airship taken down so easily. With such innocent lives on board. So close to home and yet so far.

But watching as Jeroden's ship disappeared into the misty mountain ranges of the Scarlet Pillars was what broke his heart.

Jeroden was his closest comrade. And friend.

During those times it was difficult to maintain relationships with others. Their lands grew more toxic as years rolled by. They grew more determined to fight back in some way. His life during his first twenty-three years was that of survival and training to wield a driveblade.

It wasn't a time to make friends. Comrades, yes. But not friends or companions. Their lives were to serve the empire and Emperor Afrodr. But he had managed to maintain a friendship with Jeroden. He was just a couple of years younger than him, but somehow infuriatingly taller.

A soft, sad smile slipped across Logre's lips at the memory of Jeroden teasing the hell out of him for being shorter. As soon as their commanding officer left them alone after their training, Jeroden would turn to him and a cheeky half-smile would appear on his lips. Am arm would immediately loop around his neck and he'd tug him as close to him as their armours allowed. A joke about how he hadn't seen him there despite the fact that Logre had been standing there beside him the entire time passing his lips. A roll of the eyes followed by a shove. Harmless teasing.

He helped to break the monotony of training. He wasn't much of a joker (understatement actually, he was terrible at jokes), but he could be brilliantly sarcastic at the worst of times, making Logre smirk or "snerk". That half chuckle, half cough thing that Jeronden called a snerk because that was literally the sound he supposedly made. He remembered how their superior would glare at the two of them whenever they were "out of line" and Jeroden made things worse by muttering something sarcastic and witty under his breath, which caused Logre to bite the inside of his mouth in order to prevent another "snerk".

Another sad smile appeared on Logre's lips as he stared down at the black and white photos in the golden locket. He actually missed those times. Their training was harsh. Their lands decaying. Their existence bleak. But Jeroden always managed to bring a smile to his lips somehow.

God, he missed him so much. He wished there was somewhere he could go to honour his name and memory, too.

He used to call him Logy. Which infuriated him at the time. But it would be nice to hear it again. After learning of Telem and Durriken's survival, Logre felt a sense of hope rise in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, Jeroden was out there somewhere. Alive.

But…he couldn't be that lucky, huh?

He should be grateful with the life he had now. Guild Phaedron. The Highland Count. Ciaran. And Kirjonen…what more could he ask for?

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled Logre from his thoughts and he instinctively snapped shut his locket. He grasped it tightly in his hand as he glanced over his shoulder. He wasn't at all surprised to find Isiah there, his hands in his pockets, and his visible eye holding a hint of concern.

"You all right?" he asked simply.

Logre gave him a lopsided smile as he pushed himself to his feet. "Yeah, I'm all right," he said as he lifted the chain of his locket and carefully slid it over his head.

"Ready to head back home? It's getting late," Isiah said as he tilted his head toward the Duscha.

Home?

A genuine smile appeared on Logre's lips as he briefly glanced in the direction of where Tharsis could be seen. With its sandstone buildings and windmills. Where airships of both local and imperial departed and docked.

Yeah. That was home. His real home. Where he lived with his prince, with his guild. Where he'll one day allow himself to actually be happy…Maybe.

"Sure, let's go. I'm getting hungry anyway," Logre said casually as he and Isiah walked together back to their awaiting guildmates.

… … … … …

It was well and truly dark as Logre stepped from the Researcher's Clinic. The voices of his guildmates were joyful and carefree as they relaxed in their after dinner rituals. Chatting, bonding, just spending time together musing and wondering what they should tomorrow.

Normally Logre would join them, their chatter actually allowing his mind to still and just enjoy the moment. But tonight he felt restless. Perhaps restless wasn't exactly the right word. He felt surprisingly light tonight. Energetic. He supposed it was because he felt better after finally visiting his Emperor's final resting place.

Whatever the reason, he decided to spend perhaps an hour or so just strolling around the city. Maybe chat with a few of his fellow imperial knights to see how they were settling in. Or maybe visit the Count just for old time's sake.

He walked around aimless for a few minutes. No destination in mind. He encountered a few imperials here or there, receiving dutiful salutes in return. Logre just nodded his head in a friendly manner and continued on his way.

It had been a perfectly peaceful night and he pondered about returning to the clinic just to check up on His Highness. But as he moved to step down a narrow pathway that was a shortcut, he found himself stilling. There were already two figures in the centre of the path. Dressed suspiciously in dark clothing. Seemingly trying to conceal themselves while looking imposing.

And they were facing him directly. Their legs set firmly apart in the power stance. Their arms tense at their sides. Shoulders back. Eyes forward.

…They were obviously trouble.

Logre wasn't exactly in the mood for trouble.

"We've been waiting for you," a low, masculine voice stated. Dark and purposely menacing. Not at all friendly.

"Well, I'm afraid you'll have to keep waiting as my guild is waiting for me," Logre returned as he too took on a firm, power stance.

He wasn't meek by any means, but he would prefer not to get into a fight with a few assuming locals. Despite the events of the Cloudy Stronghold and Elder Gratiana's return, of which eased some of the tensions between the citizens of Tharsis and the natives of the Empire, things were still tense in some regards. He could only assume that the two in front of him had some kind of beef with the imperials and thought they would confront him about it.

Better than Baldur or Achyuta. And probably better than Zesiro, who would no doubt be thrilled to show these two that he's no shrinking violet when it came to brawling.

"That's a shame," the one that spoke early piped up again and took a purposeful step forward. "You see, we've got a few words we want to have with ya. A bone to pick even. And we're not in the mood for a no."

Typical. Just when he was in such a good mood.

…Fine. He was sure the Count would understand. He had the right to defend himself, after all.

An arm suddenly wound around him from behind him, seemingly attempting to pin his arms to his sides in a restricting manner. A moisten cloth was then placed over his mouth and nose by that same someone who had managed to get behind him.

Intuitively Logre held in his breath. He knew that anything forcibly placed over his mouth was not something that was healthy for him. No, it was obviously meant to incapacitate him.

God damn it, he didn't hear a thing. How did they sneak up on his so easily? He had no idea what they were trying to do, why anyone would go after him personally, but that didn't matter.

His instincts kicked in not shortly after. He immediately attempted to struggle and twist his head away from the hand. All the while he tugged relentlessly at his arms. He managed to free his left arm within a short struggle. The arm that his assailant behind him could not completely impede on his own. He grasped at his attacker's arm with his left hand to forcibly pull and tug the moisten rag from his mouth while he jabbed his right elbow back, hoping to nail him in the ribs or stomach.

The other two adversaries immediately realised what he was attempting and lunged forward. Logre managed to lift his leg to kick one in the stomach, simultaneously pushing him away, kicking him towards the third man, and pushing off of him to ram the one restraining him against the brick wall behind them.

There was a telling crack followed by a guttural gasp of pain as Logre rammed his assailant into the wall at full force. From the sound of the crack, he had managed to smash the guy's head against the wall. The arms around him immediately loosen and he immediately attempted to slip away.

But the other assailant somehow dodged his flung companion and lunged toward him. He managed to snare Logre's right wrist in his hand while the other clamped the moisten rag firmly against his mouth and nose again. With one assailant struggling to his feet while the other slumped against the ground, the third man shoved Logre against the wall and pinned him there.

"I was warned you would fight back," he hissed.

Warned? Shit. It wasn't just an attack of opportunity. Someone planned it. But who could be behind this attack?

Despite his best effort, Logre needed to breath. And had unfortunately managed to get a good whiff of what was soaked into that rag. He immediately recognised the smell to be that of a sleep potion. Favourable in regards to poison, but still not something he wanted to endure right about now. It made him weak and dizzy.

And he knew that despite anything that happened in the next few minutes, he was going to succumb to the potion and fall asleep. Pass out. Or simply faint. Anything to do with unconsciousness. And he couldn't fight back if he was unconscious.

Even so, he still had to attempt an escape. He just had to do it quickly.

There was the sudden sound of feet scraping against the gravel-ridden ground. Then, seemingly appearing out of the darkness, a fist enclosed in heavy duty armour that was the colour of dark green, smashed into the side of his assailant's face. Logre could practically see chards of teeth mixed with blood and spittle fly out into the air from the force of the hit. The man's head whipped around to an ungodly angle before he was flung off of his feet. And fell to the ground.

When he fell, he fell hard. He didn't even bounce. He just hit the ground and stayed there.

Logre slumped against the wall behind him as he drew in deep breaths of fresh air, hoping to counter the effects of the sleeping gas used on him. He managed to stay on his feet, though he did rely heavily on the wall for support. Not good. The sleeping gas was going to take full effect soon.

As he panted, he peered at the figure in front of him. Though his vision was a little strained due to not only the sleep gas, but the darkness of the night, he could see that the one before him wore imperial armour. Armour that was a camouflage green. And they were tall. Very tall. Taller than him by at least a head.

They…they seemed oddly familiar somehow.

Logre couldn't help but wince though when they turned to face him directly. Because of the helmet covering their face, preventing him from gauging what kind of look they had on their face or even in their eyes. And he tensed when they reached out to him.

As the arms enclosed around him, surprisingly tenderly and yet firmly, Logre found himself dismayed that he was slow in any attempt to fight back. He could barely even manage a struggle when the armour clad imperial began to forcibly move him, pulling him from the wall and against them.

Logre's vision unexpectedly wavered and it took him a second to realise that he was being lifted up from the ground. Actually being lifted into a pair of arms and rested against steel plated armour. One arm was securely wound around his shoulders, the other under his knees. And somehow, despite the sharp edges of the imperial armour, his rescuer seemed to hold him close. In a familiar way.

Despite his current circumstance, Logre was surprised by the welling of embarrassment. He had literally been swept off of his feet and was being carried to safety. In an imperial knight's arms. So easily at that. What an absolutely stupid time and reason to get flustered.

Good lord, that was not a good look on him!

"W-what? Who?" Logre tried to struggle, but was hampered by the sharp edges of the armour his…rescuer wore.

So instead he was forced to tilt his head back to look up at them. Fruitless, since they wore a helmet, but he had to look. They felt so familiar to him somehow. As he gazed up he could see faint threads of red hair behind the dark green helmet.

Red hair. Huh. Joreden had red hair. Bright red. He remembered. He used to make fun of his natural grey hair while flaunting his perfectly crimson locks, as he called them.

…It was just a coincidence. Stupid to think about. He had more important things to worry about.

"I've got you," a husky voice emanated from inside the helmet. "…Logy."

…What?

No…

It couldn't be!

Logre's eyes widened and his breath hitched in his throat. All he could do was stare up at the green helmet, desperately searching for something. Did he hear right? That voice…That nickname.

Nothing else seemed to register around him. Not even when one of his assailants returned with a sword. Not when his rescuer stopped and simply raised a leg to kick the man right in his stomach and sent him backwards a couple of feet. He barely even registered the voices of his guildmates calling his name in alarm.

Despite his vision blurring, despite his heart racing, despite his guildmates demanding to know who the hell this guy was and what the fuck was going on, Logre shakily reached out toward that green helmet.

"Take it off," he ordered as his fingers skittishly tried to pull at the necessarily restraints keeping the helmet in place.

"Not now," that familiar voice replied as he tilted his head back slightly to move just beyond Logre's reach.

But Logre was having none of it. He wanted that damn helmet off. He needed to see. That voice and that nickname. No, it wasn't just some cruel coincidence. It wasn't. It couldn't be!

"Take off your fucking helmet!" Logre yelled as he lunged forward, still resting in the man's arms, and carelessly ripped the helmet from his head.

And he found himself staring into a pair familiar golden-coloured eyes.

Gold eyes. Red hair. Dark skin. A mole on the right side of his upper lip. Though there were a few added wrinkles and lines around his eyes and the corners of his mouth, his face was exactly the same.

Jeroden…

A half smirk that was tinged with teasing mirth and was oh-so familiar slipped across the man's lips. "No need to be so rough, Logy," he said as the helmet tumbled from Logre's lax fingers.

Logre's arms fell listlessly over the man's shoulders as he continued to stare at him with unblinking eyes. Eyes that were slowly starting to blur. From the effects of the sleep gas.

And maybe even from tears.

…It really was him. Jeroden. He was alive.

That was the last thought that rolled through Logre's mind before his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he slumped forward against Jeroden's shoulder as he finally succumbed to the effects of the sleeping potion.


	22. The Burden of the Truth

**Title:** The Burden of the Truth

 **Summary:** Logre is reunited with Jeroden, his long-lost friend. But he needs to know truth of what happened to him those ten years ago…

 **Pairing:** Jeroden/Logre

 **AN:** Hahaha, and I thought I was trying to make Logre happy D: A few bombshells are dropped in this oneshot, and Logre has to suffer through them all. I promise this will eventually lead to happiness for Logre, even though it doesn't seem that way at present Q^Q

* * *

Logre's head throbbed with a low ache as he tried to force his eyes open. Though it was a task as his eyelids felt unnaturally heavy. As did his mind. Cloudy and foggy. Yet there was something tugging at the back of his mind. Something important.

He uttered a low groan as he lifted a hand and pressed it against his forehead. He forced his eyes to open, and though his vision was blurry, he recognised the white ceiling above him. It was that of the patient room at the Researchers' Clinic. It wasn't a room he frequented often, certainly not as a patient. But he had been inside more than he liked. And he would recognise that off-white paint on that ceiling anywhere.

So that lead to several questions - why was he in the patient room? Why was his head aching? Why did he feel as though something extremely important had just occurred?

Logre closed his eyes, his hand still pressed against his forehead. He needed to think and remember what happened. Yesterday he had visited his Emperor's grave for the first time. He had mused about the past. Had dinner with his guildmates. Went for a walk…

And bumped into some less than honourable people.

Right. He was attacked. Though it felt more as a potential kidnapping. Strange thing to occur. Especially with _him_ as the main target.

Wait…he was…rescued?

…Red hair…gold eyes…brown skin…

Jeroden?

In spite of his dizziness, Logre shot up in bed, his eyes wide. The memories of everything that happened returned to him in a flurry. But all he could register was that half smile, that smile that was familiar. And his nickname said with a voice that was all too familiar. A voice he hadn't heard in years.

It…wasn't a dream, was it? That would be far too cruel.

A murmur of voices from just outside the door pulled Logre from his racing thoughts. The voices were familiar. But it was the baritone voice that caught his attention. And caused his breath to hitch in his throat.

He found himself on his feet as the door opened before him. And there, in the threshold was a man…a man he hadn't seen, lest heard his name, in over ten years.

It wasn't a dream.

Logre felt as though the world around him came to a halt as a man from his past, a man he thought he would never see again, a man he thought to be dead, stood before him. And smiled at him. A smile of relief. A broad smile. One that reached to his very eyes.

With arms outstretched, Jeroden stepped toward him. "Logy…"

Logre's legs suddenly felt weak and he must have looked unsteady as he felt as Jeroden suddenly closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around him tightly. Logre's chin rested on his broad shoulder, his head tilted back to stare up at the ceiling because of the height difference. He barely heard the sound of the door gently shutting over the rapid beating of his heart.

This warmth. There arms. That mangled mess of red hair. It was real. _He_ was real.

"Jeroden…"

"It's me, Logy."

There were so many questions that Logre wanted to ask. So many that he had fallen speechless. Where could he even start? How was this even possible? It couldn't be a trick. No the man that held him felt the same. It may have had been ten years, but the grip, the warmth of his arms…it was exactly the same.

"How…?" the question tumbled from his lips feebly before he shook his head and pushed Jeroden back. Only to clasp him by the shoulders to gaze upon his face. "You died. There was no way you could have survived that airship crash."

"Logy…" Jeroden sighed as he rested his hands against Logre's sides.

Logre shook his head as his grip on Jeroden's shoulders tightened. "I witnessed your airship crash in the Scarlet Pillars!"

Jeroden said nothing but the expression on his face was that of regret and pain. The silence was almost unbearable before Jeroden uttered a deep, seemingly sorrowful sigh. "Logre, perhaps you should sit down."

That…wasn't a good sign, was it?

"I'm fine," Logre insisted stubbornly. "Just tell me what happened. Be as blunt as possible, I don't care at this point. Just tell me."

That previous pain-filled look in his golden eyes returned, and though there was a half-smile on his lips, there was no mirth to it. "I was never on that airship, Logre," he said bluntly.

Logre drew in a sharp intake of air as his brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean? I saw you board myself and-"

"No," Jeroden cut him off with a sharp shake of his head. "You saw someone in armour similar to mine. Moments before I was meant to board for the journey, I was attacked and another imperial took my place."

Logre felt…queasy. And breathless.

Jeroden's arms were suddenly around him once more, one arm securely around his mid back while the other cradled the back of his head against his shoulder. "That's why I said you should have sat down. Too stubborn for your own good."

But Logre shook his head stubbornly as he pushed back against Jeroden gently once more. But, nevertheless, he stayed in the other man's arms. Grateful for their support. And to remind himself that he was in fact very real. Solid and warm.

"You…were in the Cloudy Stronghold the whole time?"

"Cloudy Stronghold, yes. Empire, no."

Logre felt that queasy feeling from before increase. He was fairly certain he knew what Jeroden was to reveal next.

"After I had learnt of what happened, how I was forcibly replaced by someone I did not know, I turned to the council to grant me another airship to follow to ensure that the one responsible for my attack would be brought to justice. And to ensure that I take my place with you and our Emperor. But…I was denied."

There it was. That was what Logre had anticipated. It made him wince all the same.

An uncharacteristically bitter expression appeared on Jeroden's face and his eyes blazed with a deep-seated anger that had been no doubt brewing for several years now. "In fact, they accused me of a traitorous act and I was cast into exile without the chance of a trial. Just thrown aside. Elder Gratiana had helped me to escape into the wilds of the Cloudy Stronghold that were inhabitable. But after that, I had lost all contact with the Empire. And to anyone who served."

Why? That was the only thing running through Logre's mind. Why would they do something like that to an imperial soldier that Emperor Afrodr had trained himself?

…He just answered his own question, didn't he? But that would mean that the council had hoped that his desperate quest to protect his people and save the lands would fail. In fact it almost seemed like they had ensured that it would be replacing one of the emperor's trusted soldiers.

Good god…

Logre swallowed the hard lump of emotion that formed at the back of his throat. "You…were out in the wilds of the Cloudy Stronghold the entire time? Ten years?"

"Oh yes, for ten years straight," Jeroden murmured as his eyes took on a dark, painful sheen and he looked to the side at the floor. "After months of mindless wandering I was finally taken in by a small village of farmers who were trying desperately to simply survive. The most primitive of living conditions to be certain. But it was all they, all _I_ had."

Logre honestly didn't know what to say to that. What could he say? Logre didn't have much firsthand experience of what it was like out in the toxic wilds of the Cloudy Stronghold. But he could see how tainted the lands were. How the grass, the trees, the soil was poisonous if not handled correctly. How the deaths of those infected were slow and painful.

To think that Jeroden had suffered through ten years out there…

God, and to think that Logre was lamenting about living a secret life in Tharsis for those ten years. At least he was safe. A roof over his head. Food in his stomach. Did Jeroden have any of that?

He felt so guilty. More so for the fact that Logre had thought him dead during those years.

"Don't look at me like that, Logy. Although, it is quite the pitiful story, isn't it?" Jeroden half joked. Though it was easy to hear the injustice in his voice, and see it in his eyes.

"How did you manage?" Logre found himself uttering.

The smile on Jeroden's lips turned into that of mild mirth and he tilted his head to the side. "Pure, unadulterated stubbornness," he answered. "What imperials are famous for, yes?"

That was true. Imperials were known for the mastery in battle, as well as their stubbornness. They had to be stubborn, after all.

Logre fell silent as his gaze wandered to Jeroden. Now that the shock of seeing him alive had calmed down (just a little, mind) he took a moment to simply look at him. He noted that he was no longer wearing the armour that he had worn when he helped him that night. Instead he wore the clothes of a normal citizen of Tharsis. They looked good on him, actually. The shirt perhaps a little tight, showing off his muscles. But the shirt's short sleeves also revealed several light scars on his arms. Though easy to overlook at a mere glance, but they were now quite obvious to him.

Clearly, Jeroden's life as a farmer was not an easy one.

"You're not wearing your armour," Logre feebly noted to break the rather awkward silence between them.

Jeroden laughed good-naturedly. God it was a sound he thought he'd never hear again.

"Oh you like what you see then?" he teased lightly as he took a half step back to proudly show of his new clothes, of which Logre had to note did seem to enhance his muscles. "I've been warned of your medic so when he threatened me to get out of that armour, I willingly obliged."

Logre couldn't prevent a frown from creasing his features. "Warned? By who?"

The smile from Jeroden's lips suddenly dissipated and an expression that appeared both reluctant and somehow curious appeared on his face. "The answer to that is somewhat…unexpected. I think you've heard enough bombshells today, yes?"

Honestly, of all the things that Logre had recently learnt of his own empire, he didn't have the energy to be shocked by anything anymore. Surprised, yes. Shocked, no. The empire and the council that controlled everything behind the scenes hold many secrets. Some of which have been kept hidden for decades, it seemed.

"Tell me," Logre requested.

Jeroden fell silent for a moment before he sighed and scratched the back of his neck. "I don't suppose you've heard of the stories about the man known simply as the Golden Imperial?"

Logre's frown deepened. "No, I haven't."

"I do not know much myself," Jeroden conceded as he walked past Logre and sat himself down on the edge of the bed and rested his elbows on his knees. "From what I understand, though I am not certain for…certain reason. But from what I do understand, this Golden Imperial once was a mere low level soldier that patrolled the Windy Achieves. But one day, he had discovered some shocking information. Of the empire itself. So vile that he went rogue immediately. Denounced his loyalty to the council, stole valuable information, information that only the council members were of liberty of knowing, and disappeared into the vastness of the Cloudy Stronghold."

…What? What could he have possibly have found in the Windy Achieve that would cause an imperial soldier to go to such lengths?

"There are legends of him, stating him as nothing more than a myth. The Golden Imperial coming to the aide of the weak and weary, they would say," Jeroden continued before he lifted his head up and looked directly into Logre's eyes. "But he exists, Logre. I've met him. Twice. Once when he guided me to the village to which I would eventually call home. And the second to tell me of you, of your guild, and of Tharsis. Had he not…I suppose I would still be toiling in those fields, oblivious to all."

Wait, wait…how could a man, an imperial that Logre could never have possibly met know of what happened with him in Tharsis? About his guild? About their antics? He had never encountered anyone with golden armour within Tharsis. Red, blue, green, black…those were the colours of choice that the empire demanded all armours to be.

But to be brass and wear golden armour? Did that hold some kind of a symbolic meaning?

"Do…do you know who he is?" Logre asked as he sat down next to Jeroden on the bed, suddenly feeling fatigued and lightheaded.

Jeroden shook his head. "No. I do not know his name, nor have I ever seen his face. His manner of speaking, though sometimes harsh, had always been truthful. No riddles. No lies. No hesitation. Ask him for the truth, and he would deliver…even if you weren't ready to know the truth."

Once more Logre fell completely speechless. By the gods all this information was just too much to deal with right now. The shock, the relief, the disbelief, the surprise…it was making his head hurt.

"This…this is just too much right now," Logre murmured as he clutched his forehead with his hand.

"Ah, I do suppose it's a little too much of an information overload for that pretty little head of yours," Jeroden teased, his tone of voice immediately returning to a state of joviality.

"Please, this empty melon is far from pretty," Logre retorted. Though he didn't move when Jeroden slid an arm around his back and pulled him against his side.

"At last, I can fulfil my pledge that I made for the Emperor. And for you," Jeroden said.

Logre looked at him curiously. "Pledge?"

Before Logre could question him any further, Jeroden unexpectedly stood from the bed and took a couple of steps forward. He turned around to stand before Logre before he dropped to his knee, his head down and his hand against his chest. A stance that imperials took whenever they were to pledge their loyalty to the empire. And to the emperor.

"What are you-?"

"I pledge to remain by yourself until the ends of my days," Jeroden interrupted, his voice firm and dedicated. Not a hint of a waiver. No uncertainty. Strong and true. "To walk beside you, to be with you through times of famine and of abundance. Through sickness and through health. To hold your life always before mine."

Logre sat on the bed, completely and utterly speechless. The words rattled around through his mind, yet they appeared incomprehensible.

"…What are you saying?" Logre whispered as he stared wide-eyed at Jeroden. "Why?"

"It is something that Emperor Afrodr also asked of me," Jeroden explained.

…What?!

Despite his light-headedness, Logre leapt to his feet. "Why would the Emperor request something like that of you?!" he yelled, disbelief and bewilderment in his voice.

"Because of many reasons," Jeroden returned as he, too, took to his feet.

Before Logre could demand to know what those reasons where, he feel silent when Jeroden abruptly and yet gently cupped the side of his face. And the expression he gave him was…god, he could barely describe it. Fondness? Was he looking at him with fondness?

"I can see by the lines on your face, that his fears were founded," Jeroden said as he stroked his thumb against Logre's cheek. "The guilt and pain in your eyes. I can see so clearly. For ten years, perhaps longer, you've kept your fears, your regrets, your worries all to yourself. And even now they weigh upon you. You see yourself as unworthy. As unlovable. But you are. You are worthy. You are lovable. Emperor Afrdor knew of this. I knew of this."

What, no, none of this was making any kind of sense. Nothing was making any sense!

Logre felt an unexpected feeling of anger boil in the pit of his stomach. Of all the things he had just learnt, this…this was just _ludicrous_. "It's a pledge of obligation!"

"No, no," Jeroden immediately returned as he took Logre by the shoulders and pulled him close to him, lowering his head just a little so that he could look straight into Logre's eyes. "It may have started that way, but not now."

Just as quickly as the anger flared up, it unexpectedly faltered and Logre stared wide-eyed at Jeroden once more. "What are you saying?"

A smile appeared on Jeroden's lips, but it held no mirth. Just a sense of sincerity. And there was absolutely no hesitation in the words he spoke next. "For ten years I have thought of you. Every night I would gaze up at Yggdrasil and wondered if you could see it, too. Every time the rains came, every time the wind blew, I lay awake wondering if you had a roof over your head. If you were fed and looked after. And now that I know that you have been, I'm relieved."

Dear god, no…don't do this, Jeroden. Don't say anything else. Not to him.

Jeroden had been through enough pain and torment. Enough fear and uncertainty. To…to…god, don't make that mistake. Don't tell him that he was in love with him or something similar. Because…gods, because Jeroden didn't deserve that. He deserved better!

"Jero…don't," Logre murmured feebly, almost fearfully as he tried to push Jeroden away from him. "Don't…"

"Ah, it's too late, Logy," Jeroden said as he took a step forward and wound his arms around Logre once more. "It's too late. I can't turn back now."

Logre's head was reeling. His chest ached. He told himself to push Jeroden away from him. But his thoughts were jumbled. He couldn't think straight. His body just wouldn't move. Couldn't move.

"I…need time to think," Logre murmured as he lightly, ever so lightly attempted to push Jeroden away. "This is too much, I-"

"Of course," Jeroden said as he thankfully, and yet painfully pulled back away from him. His hands lingered for a brief moment against Logre's sides before he pulled away completely. "I understand. Yes, I do realise it's a bit overwhelming for you at the moment. Christ, I could have done that better. I just…wanted to be with you again."

…Yeah. It was a relief to see Jeroden again. It truly was. Despite everything else…he was alive.

"Take your time and think," Jeroden continued as he gave him a small smile. "I won't be going anywhere. And…I'm glad to be back in your life once again, Logy."

"I…I'm glad you're back, too…" Logre murmured as he watched as Jeroden turned and walked to the door. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before he reached for the handle and quietly opened the door.

As he stepped out of the room and quietly closed the door behind him, Logre felt a wave of pure exhaustion wash over him and he sunk down to sit on the edge of the bed once more.

And, for the first time in ten, perhaps even twenty years, Logre dropped his face to his hands and cried.


	23. An Ear to Listen and A Voice to Comfort

**Title:** An Ear to Listen and A Voice to Comfort

 **Summary:** Logre, bewildered by his own emotions, speaks with Isiah before allowing Nitish to give him a few words of comfort.

 **Characters:** Logre, Isiah, Nitish

 **Pairings:** Platonic Logre with Isiah and Nitish

 **AN:** God, I nearly cried writing this Q^Q But we're finally getting somewhere with Logre~ It's all up hill from here for Logre, I promise! Fluff and precious moments await. Until then, though, get ready to start crying :'D

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Logre lay sprawled awkwardly on the bed; his arm listlessly flopped over his face and eyes. A low, but deep-seated headache was beginning to make its presence known to him. His eyes also burn with a gritty sensation and his chest felt heavy. He probably had a fever, too, just to top it all off.

He, however, was pretty certain he knew the reason he felt like...shit.

Crying like a child was the cause.

It was almost terrifying in a way how he couldn't stop himself from crying. He eventually did, obviously, but it took him so long. Ten, fifteen minutes perhaps. Of course he first tried to play off the sudden bout of crying as a side effect of whatever sleeping aid those three guys used on him. But he knew it wasn't true. It was from the pent-up emotions that he locked away for over ten years finally reaching their breaking point.

He just broke down.

The shock, the surprise, the sheer relief. It all acuminated into one large crying fit. He shouldn't be all that surprised, to be honest. He always knew at the back of his mind that one day the stress of having to hide for ten years, of having to lie to those he learnt to care for, to lie to himself would one day come back to bite him in the ass.

He should probably be grateful that it happened in a secluded room at the Researchers' Clinic. And not out in the wilderness of one of the labyrinths.

It was...all Jeroden's fault. Yeah. Jeroden was always able to make him feel and see things that no one else could. Emperor Afrdor himself once said, so long ago, that Jeroden was able to put some different expressions on his face.

Speaking of which, he was sure the others of his guild were worried. Nitish, after all, could sense emotions. And he would have unwittingly experienced a tonne of them with him. And what of those three guys that ambushed him? he vaguely remembered hearing the voices of his guildmates before the shocking revealing of Jeroden's return.

Gods, Jeroden...

All his thoughts would returned to that man. No matter whatever else he tried to think about, they would do a complete 360 and return back to Jeroden. His thoughts were a jumbled mess. Understandable, probably. But it didn't make the act of thinking any easier.

Honestly, all he could think was that Jeroden was alive. He was alive. The more he thought about it, the less he cared about the other circumstances of what happened to him. He was alive.

And...apparently in love with him.

Gods, that was another thing that was continuously running around in his head. Jeroden was sarcastic but he wasn't a liar. And he wouldn't lie about something like that. But...dear god, that man deserved so much better. So much better.

But…it also made his heart quicken. Almost as if he was…happy by the thought. He pushed that aside, though.

The sound of the doorhandle moving and unhitching the lock pulled Logre from his thoughts. He didn't move, however. Just kept his pitiful slouched resting on the bed. Even as he heard the sound of boots clack against the hard flooring to make their way over to him.

A sweet scent touched his nose as a hand landed on his shoulder.

"Let's do something about that headache of yours," came Isiah's voice.

Logre sighed and dropped his arm away from his eyes. Though the light of the room hurt his eyes for a moment, he was immediately able to recognised Isiah as he stood near the bed. One hand continued to rest on his shoulder while the other held a tea cup, no doubt filled with some kind of herbal tea that would help with his emotion induced headache.

"Yeah, ok," Logre murmured, his voice thick yet tired. And he pushed himself to sit up, though it took quite a bit of effort to do so. His head also spun from the movement and he had to sit on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands for a few moments.

And Isiah's hand stayed on his shoulder the entire time, waiting. Probably silently uttering a refresh spell or two to help make him feel better. Isiah wasn't the motherly type, as one would imagine those in the healing profession would be, but he was a bloody good medic. And Logre was glad that he was there.

Silently, Logre lifted his head from his hands and turned in Isiah's direction, only to find the cup of herbal tea pushed toward him.

"Drink this," Isiah instructed. "It'll help with the headache. And maybe clear your mind a little."

The sweet scent was something Logre hadn't encountered before, but he trusted Isiah and his brothers. They knew their stuff, after all.

"How are you feeling?" Isiah finally asked him as he walked to stand a foot or so in front of him, but leaned back against the medical counter behind him.

And Logre uttered a mirthless laugh. Normally he would brush off such concern, insist that he was fine with a half-smile before abruptly changing the subject. But he couldn't do that now. Not with Isiah. Not that the previous habit worked too well with him, anyway.

"I honestly haven't a fucking clue," Logre replied with a croaky voice.

"Just word vomit it all out for me then," Isiah suggested.

Vomit wasn't the best word for Isiah to use at the moment. Honestly, after learning that Jeroden had endured hell for ten years as a farmer, not knowing what the hell was going on and having to leave everything behind made Logre want to vomit. He just couldn't imagine having to live like that on his own...

Then again, he kinda did, didn't he?

Logre took a long sip of his tea, letting the warm liquid wash down his throat to his stomach. There was a flowery taste mixed with honey. It was sweet, but not overly so. It tasted nice. Warm and inviting. Just concentrating on drinking this tea actually made him feel a little better.

But he knew that Isiah would like to know how he was truly feeling. What happened to him. He must look like a wreck. Really, Isiah hadn't pointed it out, so he must look like total shit.

Logre finished his tea in silence, Isiah waiting patiently for him as he placed the empty cup onto the bed next to him. He then took a moment to try to compose himself, to gather his thoughts in a manner that would make sense. He tried to treat it as if he was giving a report for a mission or request. Get to the key points as quickly as possible and as rationally as possible.

Of course as soon as the words "Jeroden is a friend of mine" let his lips all composure went out the window and he just ended up blubbering about what Jeroden had told him, how he was another soldier to aid the emperor's mission, how he was betrayed, how Logre thought him dead after witnessing his airship crash.

Everything came out all jumbled. A complete and utter mess. Much like him to be completely frank.

"I see," Isiah murmured after Logre had blurted it all out. "Your reactions are completely justifiable. To have someone you thought dead return to your life? That would be like my old man returning from the grave. If he did that with me, well...I don't know how I would react. Punch him in the guts?"

Despite himself, Logre felt his lips twitch into a half smile. "I'd imagine he would expect nothing less."

Isiah suddenly pushed away from the counter and folded his arms across his chest. Not exactly in a stern manner, but a firm one nonetheless. "There's something else, isn't there?"

Yes, of course there was. The most confusing thing of all.

"He's...also in love with me," Logre confessed, swallowing back the bubble of guilt that lodged in the back of his throat.

Isiah shifted on his feet and unexpectedly snorted. "So he comes back into your life by potentially saving your life, whisking you away to safety before unleashing a few bombshells and then admitting to be in love with you? Well, one can't say that he doesn't do things by half."

A laugh bubbled up from Logre's throat so unexpectedly that it caught him by surprise. Still, he laughed lowly and it felt relieving in a way. "No, he certainly doesn't. Never have," he murmured as he harshly rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms.

"Is that one of the reasons you're feeling so out of sorts?" Isiah asked as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Are your thoughts now centring on why he would be?"

Logre didn't, couldn't reply.

Isiah, however, seemed to continue for him. "Let me guess; something along the lines of deserving so much better than a bitter, scarred old man like you? Hmm? Am I close?"

Spot on, actually. As per usual. By the gods, it was unnerving when he did that. And Nitish was supposed to be the psychic one.

Isiah suddenly gave him with a stern, piercing look. "Logre, you're thirty-three years old. You have at least another sixty years left in you. Are you seriously going to spend the next several decades moping about the past? Something you had no control over? Something you still have no control over?"

...Trust Isiah to ask him such a hard question.

He...had been living in the past, hadn't he?

"Nitish would also like to speak with you," Isiah suddenly said.

Logre couldn't prevent himself from wincing. He was about to decline, not wanting to cause the runemaster further stress with his raging emotions at the moment, but Isiah clamped a hand on his shoulder. And Logre knew the medic long enough to know what whenever he did that, he wasn't going to take no for an answer. And...it also meant that what he had requested of him was to the benefit of his health.

"It'll be good for you," Isiah continued. "Nitish has become quite adept at understanding the emotions of others. And I'm fairly certain that you've become confused by your own. At least let him talk you through some of them."

He...had a point. He had pushed aside his own feelings for so long that they're become foreign to him.

"You've experienced more emotions in the last twenty-four hours than you had in the entire ten years you've been here," Isiah said as he dropped his hand from his shoulder and shoved both of his hands into the pockets of his white medical coat. "Now, he's waiting outside for you. Just let him see you at least. Everyone is worried."

"I know," Logre relented with a sigh. "Tell them I'm sorry, yeah?"

"I can but they'll return that there's nothing to be sorry about, so it's a waste of time," Isiah countered as he turned and walked to the door.

Logre sighed again and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Perhaps it would help him to speak with Nitish. He felt awkward, foolish even to burden a younger man like that. Especially one who he had been in charge of protecting during their mission. But Nitish wasn't a child anymore. He had grown a lot over the last year.

Unlike him, it seemed.

The door opened and Logre lifted his head to watch as Nitish step into the room. He paused to close the door silently behind him before he turned to give Logre his full attention. His face appeared slightly pale, as if he hadn't been able to rest for the past few hours, and his eyes seemed...sad. He, however, held himself high, his shoulders relaxed, and his hands folded in front of him. He had always very elegant and graceful.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly.

Foolish, to be completely honest. A emotionally-stunted soldier rediscovering the world of emotions and feelings.

Nitish's gaze softened further, as if able to hear his musings. Or at least read his facial expressions and emotions. He sighed and closed the distance between them. He then sat on the bed next to Logre, his hands folded neatly atop of his lap. He gazed down at them for a moment, silent. And Logre remained silent, too.

Finally, after a somewhat awkward silence, Nitish seemed to nod to himself before he lifted his eyes and looked at Logre. "Give me your hand," he unexpectedly requested.

Logre was surprised by the request, but he soon realised that Nitish could better understand an object, or in this case a person's aura if he touched them in some way. It allowed for him to ground himself while freely exploring their aura.

Though he was reluctant, Logre offered Nitish one of his hands. His left. Scarred and battled hardened over the years. Nothing like Nitish's flawless, slender hands. Even so, Nitish clasped his hand tightly with both of his without hesitation. And he closed his eyes for a moment.

"Relief," Nitish said after another moment of silence, though his eyes remained closed. "You're happy that Jeroden is alive. You've missed him so much. Much more than you thought. Much more than you realised. It is that realisation that made you fall into a state of shock when Jeroden returned to you."

Logre's mouth dropped open in surprise to hear that. He, of course, gaped at Nitish, though the talented runemaster continued to gently stroke his thumb over the back of Logre's hand, seemingly oblivious to his bewilderment.

"The shock you felt when you learnt of some truth, of him, led to a moment of excitement, to know that he wasn't taken from you in such a way," Nitish continued, undaunted. "But that was quickly overridden with guilt. Guilt that you had seemingly forgotten him. Guilt that you had languished in your own despair while he suffered through his. Guilt that you had accepted that he was dead, even though you also felt that you should have held more firmly onto the belief that he was still alive somewhere."

...By the gods, how...?

Nitish slowly opened his eyes and turned to look up at him. "You consider yourself selfish, but you are one of the most selfless people I have, we have ever known. But that selflessness has turned you into a martyr. You won't allow yourself to be happy. Because you think you don't deserve it. All because you tried your best to honour your emperor's memory and dream for the empire."

"Th-that's not true..." Logre tried to argue back, but his voice was unexpectedly and unnervingly weak and thick with emotion.

Nitish shook his head and released his hand, only to push himself to his feet and unexpectedly step in front of Logre and wound his arms around his neck, gently guiding him to rest his forehead against his chest. Logre fell limp and completely speechless as Nitish rested his cheek atop of Logre's head.

"These emotions aren't new," Nitish explained. "They've always been there. But you've pushed them aside, ignored them whenever they flared up. All for the sake of others."

That...that simply wasn't true. It couldn't be. He was just a stupid old man being used as a puppet for an empire he thought he knew but didn't.

"But now you've been presented with the opportunity to share with Jeroden all the things you thought you never would again," Nitish said as he leaned back to frame Logre's face in his hands and tilt his head back to look up at him. "Don't let this opportunity slip away."

He...was right. Jeroden was back in his life. Back and alive. Scarred like him. Bitter like him in some aspects. But he was alive. And happy to see him as well. God, oh god that was all that mattered in the end. He had his friend back.

His...friend?

That pledge…

"Please," Nitish whispered, his blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Let yourself be happy."

"I...don't know how," Logre pitifully murmured in return, well aware now that more tears were pooling in his eyes.

"The first step is to say you want to try," Nitish gently returned. "So say it. Say it aloud."

There words were there. On his lips. But it felt so hard. "I...want to try to be happy for once."

Though his eyes were teary, Nitish smiled at him. A bright smile of relief. "Yes. We will help you. Now is your time to be watched over by everyone."

That...sounded nice. It won't be easy. He likely wouldn't make it easy. But it would be unintentional. Brought on by habit. But he...he really wanted to try. Just try it. Try to look to the future instead of the past. He wasn't tied there anymore. He was...free now, wasn't he? Was that one of the reasons why he continues to cling to the past? Because he didn't know what else to do?

Nitish suddenly hugged him again, his arms around his neck. And this time Logre found the strength to wrap his arms around him in return, actually letting himself enjoy the comfort of his embrace.

"I'm so proud of you," Nitish unexpectedly said. "Now we all can move on and look to the future. All of us. Together."

Yeah. He'd like that very much.


	24. Chapter 24

**Title:** A Meaningful Conversation

 **Summary:** Logre needed to speak with Jeroden. But he didn't think a head-butt from his prince would be the push he needed...

 **Pairings:** Hints of Jeroden/Logre :3

 **AN:** Just another oneshot of Logre finally getting to the point where he'll let himself be happy, but he just needs one little push :3c Now, hope you enjoy reading~!

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How did one let oneself be happy? How could it been done, when one's life had been in the servitude of others? How did one get passed the guilt, the uncertainty, to allow oneself to actually...just be happy?

Those were the questions that Logre were troubled by.

He wanted to try his hand at moving on, moving forward. He truly did. He just didn't know how. That was why he was so troubled. He also felt guilty about being troubled, though.

Only a day had passed since Jeroden, his friend and companion from his days as a dutiful soldier of the empire, virtually returned from the dead. In a rather dramatic fashion. Saving him from three obviously up to no good hoodlums that tried to capture him for who knows what reasons.

And Logre had been holed up in this room, on the second floor at the Researchers' clinic, lost to his own thoughts. It wasn't as if he wasn't relieved that Jeroden was back. That he was alive. He was. He was incredibly relieved. But even after his talk with Nitish, even after he helped him sort through his own feelings and emotions, Logre still felt overwhelmed by everything.

He was reassured that it was natural. Especially for someone like him. A highly trained soldier. Someone who had been taught since he could walk to put the empire first. Suddenly having the ability to think about himself wasn't going to be easy for him to simply accept.

But his utterance of wanting to move forward was a huge step in the right direction.

Honestly, there were times where Logre felt unworthy of this guild. Not that he would say it aloud, mind. Not that he would try to put some distance between them. Not with this guild. They wouldn't let him. They'd drag him back kicking and screaming if he tried to stay away.

Logre sat down on the edge of the bed in the room and turned to look out the window. Just outside, just below the window stood Jeroden. Free of his armour and in "normal" clothing. He stood with his back to the residence as he spoke to both Achyuta and Xander.

His gaze lingered on Jeroden. His arms folded across his chest, tightening the shirt against his back. The taut muscles in his back prevalent, especially when he laughed at something. Achyuta seemed to be speaking with Jeroden easily, though he could honestly talk to anyone. Xander appeared less forthcoming with his words, but he, too, seemed rather relaxed. It seemed that spending time with Ciaran had indeed been beneficial for him.

Watching the three interact, watching as Jeroden spoke and laughed freely...Logre never thought he would see him again. Let alone standing out in the streets of Tharsis. Speaking with his guildmates. Standing outside of the residence where their guild, and their prince, stayed.

It seemed so surreal.

Maybe that was one of the reasons why Logre felt overwhelmed. He never thought that something like this would happen. Could happen. And now that it had...he was afraid that it could be nothing more than a dream.

He didn't think he could handle it if it was...

The sound of the door to his room abruptly opening pulled Logre from his thoughts and observations. He immediately turned to look, mildly wondering if it was Isiah again, perhaps becoming impatient with his preverbal sulking.

However, he was surprised to see his prince step inside instead. Usually, he was out in the field under the guidance of Varuna and Bryce. But their party had been in town for the last couple of days. And they had been in the city when Logre had found himself in trouble.

"Your Highness?" Logre questioned as he made the motion to stand up.

But Baldur made a dismissive motion with his hand. "No, stay seated. Otherwise I won't be able to do this..."

Logre dutifully sat back down, though his brow did furrow in confusion. Which only grew as Bladur continued to approach him, to stand before him. Far closer than he had ever done before. But before Logre could question if his prince was feeling well or if he needed something, Baldur unexpectedly reeled his head back and...

Head-butted him on the forehead.

Logre reeled his own head back from both the impact and the surprise. His hand immediately flew up to press his palm against his forehead. There wasn't exactly any pain at the moment, though it certainly did rattle the cobwebs in his head. No, it was the shock of the entire thing that left him wide eyed and utterly speechless.

Baldur, his prince, the son of his emperor, just head-butted him!

"Listen here, Logre, as your prince I order you to look to the future instead of the past. To think about your own well-being instead of others. And to lead by example. If someone like me can learn to move forward, to let myself be an actually explorer, to willingly go out into the fields with them, then you can to. In fact I damn well order it, do you hear?!"

Logre simply stared at his prince, who in return glared at him.

Before he could manage any kind of response, even if it was just a stutter of acceptance, Baldur huffed somewhat childishly as he spun on his heel and stalked from the room. As he stomped out into the hallway, he shouted another order to someone else. "You! Get in there!"

About a minute later, Jeroden appeared in the doorway. He peered into the room, a truly perplexed expression on his face. Odd. Jeroden had been outside a mere moment ago. Did Prince Baldur's voice carry that well?

"You all right there, Logy?" Jeroden asked as he stepped inside.

"Ah, yeah," Logre replied, still well and truly stunned by what had just occurred. "Just...His Highness head-butted me."

Jeroden barked out a sharp, amused laugh, almost as if it came out purely by accident before he snapped his mouth shut and smiled. "That's a new one. I wonder where he learnt to do that."

Logre would blame Isiah, but he had never seen the medic actually head-butt anyone. So he was going to place the blame on either Bryce or Blayden. Maybe even Varuna. Hell, maybe it was Miach who taught him something like that.

"Isiah is going to get a kick out of it," Logre murmured as he idly rubbed his forehead before he dropped his arm listlessly to the side.

"Your guildmates are very protective of you," Jeroden commented out of the blue with an amused smile. "It's a both good and amusing thing."

He was obliviously insinuating about their response to those men that attacked him. As Logre was allowed to recuperate further in a more comfortable setting, he asked what had happened to those three men that accosted him in that alleyway, and got some rather surprising expressions of confusion and dismissiveness.

"What men? Those men didn't exist. What you talking about?"

They were so...blatant in their lies, though. Their acts of innocence was so fake, it was comical.

They continued to play with the oblivious act, pretending as if they had no idea what he was talking about. As if that never happened. But Logre knew better. He knew better to push for further questions. Obviously his guild had managed to find those responsible. And...well, it would be better if he didn't know what happened after that. That way should he ever be questioned about mysterious disappearances, he could be somewhat sincere in his admissions of not knowing anything.

Though, whatever had indeed happened (or rather "not" happened), Jeroden seemed to be aware of it. Partly, or fully, he certainly knew something. And was thoroughly amused by it.

"His Highness is also protective of you, it seems," Jeroden added. "Just like his father."

A lot of people seemed to be protective of him. If the fact that his guildmates had all decided to hang around at the researchers' clinic, instead heading out into the fields like they had originally planned, was anything to go by.

He...couldn't let them down. They wanted him to at least try his hand at this moving on thing. He had to try. For their sake. As well as his.

"Jeroden, we should just talk for a bit," Logre said.

Thankfully, Jeroden nodded his head. "Yeah, that would be wise," he said as he moved and sat down next to Logre on the bed. He chose to sit close to him. Not touching, mind, but still very close.

This...should be interesting. How well two emotionally stunted soldiers would be able to talk, though, was anyone's guess.

Now, how to start their conversation?

Thankfully, yet again, Jeroden was the first to speak. "I know my reappearance was startling to you," he said as he turned to face him, his knee brushing against his. "And I apologise for that. I just wanted to see you again."

"No, I know," Logre immediately replied as he turned slightly to face Jeroden in return. "I am relieved that you're here. Gods, I know it doesn't seem that way, but I am."

Turning to face Jeroden made it impossible for Logre to look anywhere but his eyes. But he did see, and did relief upon seeing, a smile spread across Jeroden's lips.

"I know," he said. "My return could have gone better. But I've always been a bit outlandish, hm?"

Logre had to smile at that himself. "Yes. You never did things by half, did you?"

Though coming out of the shadows to punch out the man attacking him and then sweeping him into his arms in order to take his to safety, was definitely something Jeroden would do. He hadn't done anything quite like it in the past, but he always playfully stated that he would.

"I'm a loudmouth, true," Jeroden continued, his smile taking on a hint of that cheekiness Logre remembered when they were both fledging soldiers. "But I've never said anything I didn't mean."

He suddenly placed his hand atop of Logre's that rested on the bed between them. And Logre felt his pulse quicken. He was alluding to his vow...

"I meant every word of that," Jeroden said with sincerity as he leaned his head forward, toward him to ensure that Logre was to look into his eyes, to not only hear his honesty, but to see it as well. "I realise now that I may have gotten a little carried away. But I won't take any of it back. And I'll repeat it as many times as necessary. But if you-"

"I didn't hate it," Logre interrupted him. "It just...surprised me. To think that Emperor Afrodr would request such a thing. And for someone to actually mean it..."

An expression that was a mixture of fondness and exasperation appeared on Jeroden's face and he shook his head. "You've always been a martyr."

"That's not true," Logre immediately protested.

He wanted to say more, but Jeroden silenced him when he suddenly but tenderly took his chin in his other hand. "Yes, it is."

There...there was that genuine fondness again.

Jeroden leaned forward, toward him a little more. Though slight and subtle was the movement, it made Logre's breath hitch in his throat nevertheless. His face was really quite close to his. It would be easy to...

"Hah," Jeroden suddenly sighed and pulled away from him as he removed his hand from his chin.

Logre was honestly surprised at how disappointed he felt when Jeroden pulled away. And how cold he suddenly felt when he pulled his hand back as well. Thankfully, much to his relief, his other hand stayed atop of his against the bed.

"You've got yourself quite the guild," Jeroden said, his comments somewhat out of the blue. "To think that Achyuta and Xander would be here, also. And that Achyuta had a twin. Bit of an asshole, though, but I like him. It's going to be a riot riling him up."

Despite the disappointment he felt earlier, a chuckled slipped passed Logre's lips and he nodded his head. "He's a strange on, even for an imperial, but he has his reasons for being so."

"Do you enjoy being around them?"

That question was really quite out of the blue and Logre felt his brow furrow slightly in confusion. "Of course I do."

"Is it ok for me to get to know them, too?"

Oh...

"Well, if you..." Logre paused for a moment in an attempt to find the right words. "If you want to fulfil your vow to me, you really should try to get along with my guild."

Jeroden's expression brightened, though he also appeared as if he had expected that answer. "Ah, more than reasonable."

"Yeah," Logre said before he smiled as he turned to look away from Jeroden. However, he leaned toward him nonetheless, his shoulder pressing against his. "Besides, I want you to. You say I'm the martyr here, but you deserve happiness, too."

"So, let us both have a go at this happiness thing," Jeroden continued as his hand pressed a little more firmly against his, his fingers, coarse from a driveblade yet still somehow tender, curled around his hand. "The two of us. We've got a lot to learn."

Logre curled his fingers against Jeroden's and his smile became easier to hold. "Yeah. We do."

Maybe he could, they could get used to this happiness thing after all. If the two of them stick together, they'll surely work it out.

But there was another question that had been bothering him, too. One that made him feel a sharp spike of guilt in his chest...

What about Kirjonen?


End file.
